m 


MIKIIIT 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALIFORNIA 


T.  L 
THE 


TURNOVER  CLUB 


TALES  TOLD  AT  THE  MEETINGS  OF  THE 

TURNOVER  CLUB,  ABOUT  ACTORS 

AND  ACTRESSES. 


COM  I' I  I.  K  I)      AND      WRITTEN      BY 


II 


BIFF"    HALL,  **eu 


CHICAGO    AND    NEW    YORK: 

RAND,  MCNALLY  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS. 

1  890. 


COPYRIGHT,  1890,  BY  RAND,  MCNALLY  &  Co.,  CHICAGO. 


J  urnover  Club. 


H3 


THIS     LITTLE     VOLUME     IS 
AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED    TO    THE 

REPORTER'S    BABY, 

WHOM    HE    NICKNAMED    "MISS    PINKERTON  " 

SOON    AFTER    HER    ARRIVAL    IN    THIS    VALE    OF    TEARS. 

WHEN    ASKED    WHY    HE    CALLED    HER    BY    THAT 

NAME,    HE    SENTENTIOUSLY    REPLIED! 

"WE    NEVER    SLEEP  !  " 


134 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

The  First  Public  Meeting—  Held  in  the  Usual  Resort,  May  17, 
1885— Personnel  of  the  Members— A  Brief  Description  of 
Them — The  Reporter  Does  the  Honors— Daniel  Bandman's 
Trials — Jack  Haverly  in  Europe — Dan  Maguinness'  Salary,  13 

II. 

The  Turnovers  Invite  the  Muse — A  Few  Jingles  Sprung  Upon 
an  Unsuspecting  Public— The  Meeting  at  Cheltenham  Beach 

"An  Ode  to  Beer" — Parody  on  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox's 

Masterpiece — "  The  Seven  Stages  of  the  Lush  " — "The  Old- 
Timer's  Lament"— The  "One-Night  Stand"  in  Michigan— 
"  The  Yarn  of  the  Manager  Bold,"  .  •  .  21 

III. 

The  Agent  in  Disgrace—  One  of  His  Numerous  Falls  by  the 
Wayside — Experience  with  a  Total  Wreck — Louis  Sharpe 
and  John  Stetson— Charlie  Reed's  Morgue  Keeper— The 
Wonderful  System— The  Wily  Umbrella  Peddler— Robson 
and  Crane  Astonish  Nat  Goodwin — John  L.  Sullivan's  Actor 
Friends — Stetson's  Acoustic  Properties,  .  .  .  33 

IV. 

A  Night  Spoiled  by  the  Toothache — An  Unruly  Molar  Makes 
Itself  Conspicuous  — The  Agent's  Tooth  Pulled  — Edwin 
Booth's  Mistakes  in  "  Hamlet  "—Charlie  Frohman's  Actor 
Friends — Nat  Goodwin  Bluffs  Sullivan— Colonel  Boozby's 
"Uncle  Tom"  Show— John  Russell's  Hustling — George 
Ryer  Fools  Professor  Herrmann,  .  .  '  .  •  ,  43 


CONTENTS. 


To  a  Higher  Plane — That  is  Where  the  Reporter  Desires  the 
Club  to  Climb— The  Men  Who  Climb  the  Telegraph  Poles- 
New  Names  for  Chorus  People — Fate  of  the  Actor's  Wash 
ing—John  McCullough's  Toothache— Billy  Crane's  Debut- 
Frank  Daniels'  Tramp  — "The  Nickel-Shooter "  — Frank 
McKee's  Bogus  Warriors,  .  .--',.  .  .  .  53 

VI. 

The  Purveyor  in  Hard  Luck — He  is  Visited  by  Burglars,  and  a 
Month  with  but  Four  Weeks  in  it — Only  Four  Salaries — The 
New  England  Chowder  Club — The  Agent  on  St.  Peter  and 
St.  Paul — John  Doris  in  Mississippi — "  Jumbo  "  Davis  and 
His  "Zulu" — A  Comedian's  Misfortune — Harry  Meredith's 
Cure  for  Insomnia — Haverly's  Lithographs — Tom  Keene 
as  a  Soldier — Hard-Boiled  Eggs  for  Easter,  61 

VII. 

Eminent  Men  at  the  Club  —  Professors  Sullivan,  Dempsey, 
Mitchell,  and  Others,  the  Guests  of  the  Evening — A  Pugilis 
tic  Atmosphere — John  T.  Raymond  and  the  Electric  Wires 
— Red  Lobsters— The  Lost  Bass-Drum — Jim  Herne's  Trick 
—Billy  Rice  Outwits  Charlie  Hoyt— A  New  York  Billboard 
Sensation — James  O'Connor  Roche's  Tramp — The  Street- 
Car  Horse — A  Large  Ball  Game,  .  .  .  .  71 

VIII. 

Tzirnovers  as  Inventors — The  Actor's  Great  Scheme  for  Serving 
Course  Dinners  with  a  Stereopticon — Illusory  Meals — The 
Dizzy  Actor  Reaches  Town — Ned  Thome's  Mastiff — Will 
McConnell's  Menagerie  —  Pauline  Hall's  Chinese  Dude — 
Gean  Smith's  Horse- Painting— George  Middleton  and  "  God 
Save  the  Queen,"  ',  .  .  .  .  .  .81 

IX. 

Yarns  in  the  Usual  Resort—  The  Reporter  Explains  Why  He 
Wears  His  Neck  in  a  Sling — The  Departed  Wen — The  Smit- 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAGE. 

ten  Orchestra  Leader— Could  not  "Double  the  Parts" — 
Young  Tony  Denier's  Bomb — The  Counsellor's  Fire-Cracker 
— A  Bogus  One — George  Gore's '' Charly  Horse" — Daboll 
and  Sullivan's  Trainer — Dan  Brouthers'  Plaint — The  Ambi 
tious  Baritone — The  Agent  Buys  Western  Union,  .  .  89 

X. 

Some  Tricks  of  the  Turnovers — The  Development  of  Mike  Kelly's 
$10,000  Face  with  a  Glass  of  Beer — A  New  Scheme  in  Pho 
tography — Nat  Goodwin's  Roulette  Seats — Fred  Stinson's 
Dog— A  Peculiar  Sign — The  Season  of  the  "  Turkey  Actor  " 
— Ned  Thome's  Conflagration — The  Thanksgiving  Bird — 
The  Amateur  Athlete— Captain  Anson's  Racquet  Court,  97 

XI. 

Misfortunes  of  the  Reporter — He  Tells  His  Fellow  Members  of 
His  Extreme  Hard  Luck— An  Awful  Record — Mark  Sullivan's 
Name — Charlie  Gardner's  Serio-Comic  Singer — "Yank" 
Adams  Bunkoes  Billy  Rice — Jack  Moynihan's  Casket  for 
"  Camille  "—Ned  Kohl  and  the  Double- Headed  Girl— Frank 
Lane  and  the  Elks— Ger.rge  Schiller  Plays  "  Black  Donald,"  107 

XII. 

The  Agent  Breaks  His  Promise — He  Sorely  Disappoints  His  Fel 
low  Members  by  Fracturing  His  Pledge — A  Royal  "  Toot  "- 
Al  Johnson  in  England— Bill  Hoey's  Patriotism— Billy 
Crane's  Yachting  Trips — Bill  Daniels'  Indians— Bob  Down 
ing  in  Training— John  Neumeister's  Foot-Race — Warren 
Leland  on  a  Toboggan — A  Loaded  Cigar,  .  .  115 

XIII. 

From  Comedy  to  Tragedy—  The  Departure  of  the  Comedians  and 
the  Arrival  of  the  Tragedians  Makes  the  Change— New  Faces 
— McConnell  and  McCullough— The  "  Bluff"  Money  Pack 
ages—Arthur  Cambridge  and  Mrs.  Langtry — The  Proprie 
tor  and  the  Mackerel — Jim  Meade's  Broken  Leg — The  Coun 
sellor's  Trick  Elevator — Frank  Moynihan  in  "  Monte  Cristo" 
— George  Wood's  Bugler— Digby  Bell's  Ball  Game,  .  .  123 


10  CONTENTS. 

XIV. 

PAGE, 

Little  Miss  Pinkerton — The  Reporter  Tells  How  She  Knocked 
Out  Santa  Glaus  in  One  Round — A  Desperate  Encounter — 
Ned  Sothern's  Statue— Kohl  &  Middleton's  Slot  Machine — 
Frank  Lane's  Guying — The  Agent  as  a  Mind-Reader — The 
Local  Chorus  Girl  to  the  Fore — A  "Jay"  Among  the  Freaks 
— Frank  Lincoln's  Mistake — A  Successful  Test,  .  .  133 

XV. 

T/IL'  Agent  on  the  Road—l^e.  Tells  of  His  Visit  to  a  Small, 
One-Night  Stand  Out  West — Show  Life  in  the  Country — 
Peculiarities  of  the  "Jays" — Charlie  Williams'  Exuber 
ance — Bob  Arthur  and  the  Decapitation  Act — Horace  Mc- 
Vicker  Scared — Frank  Cotter's  "Mixed  Pickles" — Charlie 
Andrews'  Donkey — Will  McConnell's  Stage  Locomotive — 
Ned  Thome's  Bad  Break — The  New  Criminal  Lawyer,  .  141 

XVI. 

The  Manager  at  the  Telephone — He  Indulges  in  a  Dispute  with 
Mr.  Edison's  Great  Invention — A  Disastrous  Fall — Dixey 
and  the  Wine  Agents — Tony  Denier  and  the  Auditorium — 
"The  Jew  and  the  Jay" — Will  McConnell's  Minstrel  Joke 
— Gus  Mortimer's  Star — "Scully  is  Still  Walking" — 
"  Sam'l  of  Posen"  Curtis'  Horse — A  Borrowed  Dress-Suit,  151 

XVII. 

Barn-Stormers  on  the  Road — The  Agent  Falls  in  with  a  Com 
pany  of  Minstrels  at  a  One-Night  Stand — Rural  Burnt-Cork 
Artists — The  Ancient  Order  of  Hats — A  Railroad  Wreck — 
The  Actor  at  the  Stock  Yards — Jack  Saville's  Cigars — Billy 
Crane  and  the  Terrapin — A  Mind  Cure,  .  .  .161 

XVIII. 

To  Capture  Japan — The  Agent  Exploits  a  Great  Scheme,  and  is 
Anxious  to  Carry  it  Out — An  American  Village — "  Hanky- 
Panky"  Johnson  at  the  Sea-Shore — Will  Daboll's  Hard 
Luck — George  Morris'  Boy — The  Small-Town  Magician — 
Louis  Harrison's  Joke  on  Crane — McConnell  at  Indianap 
olis — A  Box-Office  Primary — A  Mean  Man  and  a  Corpse,  169 


CONTENTS.  11 

XIX. 


PAGK. 


A  Waterbury  Suit  of  Clothes — The  Agent  Buys  One,  and  Fool 
ishly  Invests  in  a  Pantaloon  Stretcher — Bad  Case  of  Rip — 
Billy  Birch  and  the  Chestnut  Bell — The  Proprietor  Mixes  a 
Drink — Charlie  Reynolds  and  the  Earthquake — The  New 
Young  Actor— Dramatic  Agency  Mail — Charlie  Foster's 
Bull-Dogs — The  Fat  Woman  Coughs,  .  •  177 

XX. 

Soap  in  a  Cocktail — The  Purveyor's  Understudy  Attempts  to 
Shave  the  Ice— A  Bad  Break— Edwin  Booth  Shot  At— Jim 
my  Devlin  as  Call-Boy — Will  McConnell's  Abscess — Major 
Benton's  Minstrel  Troupe — Doc  Trimen's  Ball  Match- 
Harry  Pitt  as  an  Umpire — Harold  Fosberg's  Acting — 
Dynamite!  .  .185 

XXI. 

The  Bacchus  and  Ganymede  Troupe — A  New  Scheme  of  the 
Purveyor  and  the  Agent,  His  Partner — Mixed  Drinks  for  the 
Grangers — In  a  Department  Store — A  Noisy  Clock— Locked 
Up  in  a  Folding-Bed — Nat  Goodwin  at  Poker — Fun  in  a 
Music  Store— Charlie  Reed  and  Billy  Birch— The  Patent 
Egg- Tester — Phrenological  Roulette — Visited  the  Exposi 
tion,  .  .  .  193 

XXII. 

Shocked  by  a  New  Invention — The  Delicate  Nerves  of  the 
Agent  are  Given  a  Terrible  Whirl — In  Front  of  a  Letter- 
Slide—Harry  Phillips  and  the  Ball  Crank— Kenward  Philp's 
Box — Gus  Williams  Recites — "A  Common  Chord" — "The 
Queen  of  Hearts  " — Popular  Songs — Booth's  Stature — 
Charlie  Gardner  in  the  Barber-Shop — "  May-Beer,"  .  .201 

XXIII. 

The  Results  of  a  Bad  Cigar— \Nhy  the  Reporter  Reembraced 
the  Awful  Cigarette  Habit  After  Swearing  Off — A  Terrible 
Torch— A  "  Remsen  Cooler" — Ned  Walsh's  Puzzle — A 
Banana  Peel — The  Fifty-Dollar  Loan — Tom  Keene  in  Citi 
zen's  Dress — "  Hanky-Panky  "  and  "Jesse  James" — 
Christmas -Tide — "We  Never  Sleep,"  .  .  .  209 


12  CONTENTS. 

XXIV. 

PAGE 

The  Actor  at  the  Play — He  Takes  in  a  New  Production,  and 
Thinks  He  Has  Witnessed  a  Millinery  Store — A  Daisy  of  a 
Hat— The  Night  Clerk's  Plug— Matt  Snyder  and  Harry 
Pratt — Going  to  Bed  in  the  Dark — A  Turnover  Ball  Game — 
Willie  Hahn  Quits  the  Mascotting  Business— Billy  Baxter's 
Back  Tooth— An  Onion  Breath,  .  .  .  .219 

XXV. 

A  Turnover  Club  Feast — The  Celebrated  Banquet  at  the  Organ 
ization's  One  Hundredth  Session — A  Rare  Menu — The  Pro 
prietor  as  a  "  Roast-Master  " — The  Manager  Talks  of  the 
Pass — Bob  Bagley  and  the  Railroads — The  Agent's  Weak 
ness — The  Reporter's  Minutes,  .  .  »  .  .  227 


THE  TURNOVER  CLUB. 


i. 


THE  FIRST  PUBLIC  MEETING — Held  in  the  Usual  Resort,  May  17, 
1885 — Personnel  of  the  Members — A  Brief  Description  of  Them 
— The  Reporter  Does  the  Honors — Daniel  Bandman's  Trials — 
Jack  Haverly  in  Europe — Dan  Maguinness'  Salary. 

There  exists  in  Chicago  a  social  club  whose  name  is 
not  to  be  found  in  any  telephone  or  city  directory,  though 
its  membership  embraces  the  local  master  minds  of  sev 
eral  leading  callings,  and  through  its  sessions  it  has  given 
to  the  world  many  well-turned  quips  and  entertaining  rem 
iniscences,  which  are  the  very  antithesis  of  the  dreaded 
though  bounteous  "  chestnut."  This  is  the  Turnover 
Club.  Its  meetings  are  held  weekly,  in  a  well-known 
down-town  refectory.  The  hour  is  a  matter  of  secondary 
consideration;  but  the  gavel  usually  falls  when  the  "bet 
ter  classes"  are  wrapped  in  slumber.  The  sessions  are 
quite  protracted,  as  no  one  member  ever  desires  to  with 
draw,  for  fear  that  his  fellows  may  follow  out  the  tenets 
of  the  organization  and  tear  pages  from  his  own  history, 
to  read  them  for  the  sake  of  idle  curiosity  and  amuse- 
ment. 

The  personnel  of  the  Turnover  Club,  omitting  names 
and  designating  the  various  members  according  to  their 
respective  callings,  is  as  follows:  The  Proprietor,  the 
two  Purveyors,  the  Manager,  the  Agent,  the  Actor,  the 

(13) 


14  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

Professor,  the  Counsellor,  the  Night  Clerk,  and  the 
Reporter— the  latter  reporting  the  proceedings  of  the 
weekly  meetings  for  the  official  organ,  the  Chicago  Sunday 
Herald.  The  Proprietor,  whose  shekels  back  the  "  Usual 
Resort  "  where  the  meetings  are  held,  is  looked  upon  as 
the  organization's  president,  and  the  Purveyors,  who 
stand  directly  in  the  rear  of  a  couple  of  white  aprons  and 
cater  to  the  assorted  thirst  of  the  members,  are  looked 
upon  as  the  joint  treasurers  (or treasurers  of  "the  joint") 
by  general  consent,  securing,  as  they  do,  all  of  the 
available  funds  in  the  combined  pockets  of  those  whose 
names  are  upon  the  roster. 

Ofttimes,  when  any  one  member  of  the  Club  finds  his 
assets  reduced  to  a  pant-button  and  a  solitary  car-ticket, 
he  is  forced  to  commune  secretly  with  one  of  the  Pur 
veyors.  Upon  these  occasions  their  whispered  colloquy 
is  studded  thickly  with  sibilant  expressions,  such  as,  u  My 
tab,"  "To-morrow,  sure,"  and  "  No  change."  If  this  sub 
dued  conversation  results  favorably  to  the  member,  he 
smiles  blandly,  and  says,  "This  is  with  me,"  to  the  rest 
of  the  quorum;  while  the  Purveyor  makes  an  entry  upon 
his  elastic  ledger. 

A  brief  description  of  the  members  may  not  be  amiss 
at  this  time.  The  Proprietor  is  a  very  dapper,  natty 
individual,  who  prides  himself  upon  the  cut  of  his  rai 
ment  and  his  general  personal  appearance.  He  affects 
the  latest  agonies  in  attire,  and  the  glitter  of  the  dainty 
dew-drop  upon  his  rich  scarf  is  like  unto  the  sparkle  in 
the  eye  of  a  Spanish  sefiorita.  He  is  well  informed  upon 
all  current  topics,  and  is  loquacious  to  a  degree.  The 
Purveyors  are  exaggerated  counterparts  of  their  superior. 
Their  attire  is  much  more  pronounced,  and  their  scarfs 
more  boisterous;  their  diamonds,  too,  are  of  greater 
diameter,  circumference,  and  brilliancy,  though  the  clouds 


DESCRIPTION    OF    THE    MEMBERS.  15 

of  distrust  lower  darkly  over  their  value  as  quoted  by 
their  owners.  Though  their  abilities  as  analytical  chem 
ists  are  not  known,  their  skill  as  compounders  is  acknowl 
edged,  and  it  is  with  proud  mien  and  steady  hand  that 
either  of  them  stands  behind  the  polished  mahogany  and 
piles  up  the  serried  ranks  of  a  pousse  cafe,  or  dashes 
from  glass  to  glass  the  highly  colored  ingredients  of  the 
enticing  but  delusive  cocktail.  In  the  ranks  of  the  Club 
the  Manager  stands  first  and  foremost,  as  he  is  usually 
the  most  solvent.  As  to  dress  and  personal  appearance, 
he  is  rather  indifferent,  probably  for  the  reason  that  he 
is  very  near-sighted,  and  unable  to  closely  examine  what  is 
foisted  upon  him  by  his  tailor  in  the  direction  of  habili 
ments.  His  overcoat  is  a  barometer  which  invariably 
indicates  his  condition  as  to  liquor:  for,  after  every  drink 
he  takes,  its  collar  approaches  closer  to  his  hat.  He  is 
the  proud  possessor  of  a  laugh  which  never  fails  to  greet 
the  relation  of  one  of  his  own  anecdotes,  and  its  cheery 
ring  always  rattles  the  bottles  on  the  top  shelf.  The 
Actor,  his  menial  and  slave,  wears  a  head  of  fiery  red  hair 
when  off  the  stage,  and  is  designated  as  a  comedian 
before  the  foot-lights.  The  Agent,  whose  labors  consist 
in  heralding  the  approach  of  the  Manager  and  the  Actor 
in  what  he  is  pleased  to  term  "  jay  towns,"  is  a  very 
talkative  youth  who  arrays  himself  in  gaudy  attire,  always 
appears  beneath  a  newly  ironed  and  shiny  tile,  and  he 
spatters  the  atmosphere  about  him  with  the  slang  of  the 
theater  and  "the  road."  As  for  the  Reporter,  he  is  a 
modest,  unobtrusive  young  man,  who  seldom  talks  ex 
cept  in  one  of  those  mysterious  conversations  with  the 
Purveyors,  already  referred  to.  He  is  a  good  listener, 
and  is  very  fond  of  relating  the  achievements  of  his 
fellow  members  as  personal  experiences  of  his  own.  The 
other  members — the  Night  Clerk,  the  Counsellor,  and 


16  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

the    Professor — well,  they   are  entered    to    trot    in    the 
same  class,  and  are  never  far  away  when  the   wire  is 

reached. 

*  * 
* 

One  evening  last  week  the  Club  met,  purely  by  acci 
dent,  in  the  Usual  Resort.  One  by  one  the  members 
dropped  in,  the  Reporter  bringing  up  the  rear  on  his 
way  back  from  a  "  social  event  "  out  on  California,  just 
this  side  of  Dubuque,  Iowa.  The  Club  leaned  against 
the  bar,  put  half  of  its  feet  on  the  nickel-plated  railing, 
and  the  roll  was  called.  The  Proprietor  rapped  for  order, 
and  the  Purveyor  erased  with  a  towel  the  liquid  which 
was  spilled  out  of  the  gavel  in  the  operation.  Under 
the  call  for  unfinished  business,  the  Reporter  and  the 
Purveyor  held  a  whispered  consultation,  which  did  not 
appear  to  be  satisfactory  to  either  party.  Finally  the 
Reporter  drew  from  its  resting-place  the  Waterbury  chro 
nometer  which  had  accompanied  the  suit  of  clothes  he 
was  wearing,  and  passed  it  over  to  the  Purveyor.  The 
latter  placed  it  in  the  money-drawer,  paying  but  little 
attention  to  the  kiss  thrown  after  it  by  its  late  owner,  and 
turned  back  to  the  bar  to  receive  the  first  order  under 
the  call  of  new  business.  This  order  was  as  follows: 
The  Proprietor,  "A  little  of  the  old  stuff;"  the  Manager, 
"A  gin  fizz;"  the  Actor,  "A  Manhattan  cocktail;"  the 
Agent,  "A  John  Collins;"  the  Professor,  "Straight  goods;" 
the  Night  Clerk,  "Some  of  that  Lithia  water;"  the  Coun 
sellor,  "Sherry  and  egg;"  the  Reporter,  "One  beer;"  and 
the  Purveyor,  "A  dollar  five,  please."  The  order  was  dis 
posed  of  by  the  following  viva  voce  vote:  The  Propri 
etor,  "Well,  here  she  goes;"  the  Manager,  "Here's 
looking  at  you;"  the  Actor,  "Here's  a  go;"  the  Agent, 
"Swipes;"  the  Professor,  "Happy  days;"  the  Night 
Clerk,  "Drink  hearty;"  the  Counsellor,  "Here's  high 


DANIEL  BANDMAN'S  TRIALS.  17 

road  to  wealth;"  the  Reporter,  "  Gesundheit;"  the  Pur 
veyor,   "Thanks." 


*  * 
* 


"Took  in  the  minstrels  to-night,"  said  the  Agent,  as 
he  reached  a  cigar-lighter  toward  the  Purveyor's  Kohi- 
noor,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  the  gas-jet  on  the 
end  of  the  bar.  "  Heard  a  joke  that  I  first  met  with 
Barnum  in  1859 — a  respectable,  hoary-headed  fellow. 
One  of  the  end-men  supported  its  tottering  form,  and  led 
it  before  the  foot-lights  in  a  manner  that  was  truly  affect 
ing.  Reminded  me  of  Daniel  Bandman's  first  entrance 
as  Lear.  By  the  way,  I  met  Dan  and  his  party  last 
month,  when  I  was  billing  Tanksville,  R.  I.  He  is  play 
ing  in  dime  museums  now,  along  with  the  fat-headed 
boy  and  the  Albino  princess.  Plays  Richard  III.  every 
hour  from  one  P.  M.  until  ten  p.  M.  Pretty  tough  on  a 
man  to  get  killed  nine  times  a  day,  I  tell  you.  I  guess 
he's  doing  well.  Only  carries  four  people  and  one  trunk. 
His  dime  museum  version  of  the  tragedy  only  requires 
three  people,  but  he  takes  along  an  extra  man  in  order 
to  get  theatrical  rates  on  railroads  and  at  hotels.  Then 
he  uses  this  man  to  play  thinking  parts,  like  the  Bleed 
ing  Officer  and  the  two  armies.  He  acts  as  a  sort  of  a 
bill-trunk,  too,  carrying  all  of  the  combination's  printing 
in  his  overcoat  pocket.  I  dropped  in  to  see  the  show 
one  rainy  day.  There  was  only  fifty-five  cents  in  the 
house  —one  man  bought  a  reserved  seat.  A  fellow  named 
F.  Tracy  Booze  plays  Richmond.  He's  a  professional 
walker,  and  his  railroad  fare  is  saved  on  short  distances. 
They  feature  the  combat  scene — use  hard  gloves  and 
fight  four  rounds.  The  museum  pianist  accompanies 
them.  During  the  progress  of  the  first  round  he  plays 
*  Johnny,  Get  Your  Gun  ; '  then  he  works  the  thing  up 
through  '  See  Saw  '  and  '  White  Wings  '  to  '  Wait  till  the 

2 


18  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

Clouds  Roll  By/  after  which  Richard  expires  amid  the 
sad,  sad  strains  of  '  Bid  Me  Good-bye  and  Go.'  The 
show  goes  well." 


:     * 

* 


"  I  met  our  friend,  Colonel  Jack  Haverly,  to-night," 
remarked  the  Actor.  "  He's  a  hustler,  and  a  sharp  one, 
too.  One  of  his  '  Pompeys  '  was  telling  me  of  an  expe 
rience  Jack  had  with  a  member  of  the  great  English 
aristocracy.  It  appears  that  he  was  a  duke,  or  a  lord,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  and  he  became  quite  enamored 
of  the  burnt-cork  artists.  Haverly  lost  money  in  London 
on  his  second  trip  abroad,  but  he  expected  to  recoup  on 
his  tour  through  the  provinces.  He  needed  a  stake  to 
get  out  of  the  metropolis,  so  he  talked  his  aristocratic 
acquaintance  into  making  him  a  loan  of  ^500,  and  gave 
him  as  security  a  mortgage  on  the  show.  Well,  as  it 
turned  out,  the  troupe  did  make  considerable  money  in 
the  provinces,  and  when  they  were  about  to  start  for 
home  the  aristocrat  ran  down  to  Liverpool  to  foreclose 
his  mortgage,  not  having  heard  from  the  Colonel  as  he 
expected.  Jack  gave  him  one  of  those  famous  sweet 
talks  of  his,  and  the  troupe  finally  sailed  for  America, 
leaving  with  the  Briton,  in  lieu  of  his  hard  cash,  the  first- 
part  chair-covers  and  the  bass-drum.  It  is  safe  to  say 
that  he  will  take  no  more  mortgages  on  shows." 


* 
* 


"  I  had  a  letter  to-day  from  Dan  Maguinness,  the  old- 
time  comedian  of  the  Boston  Theater  Company,"  put  in 
the  Manager,  as  he  tried  to  relieve  his  catarrh  by  loading 
the  atmosphere  with  the  fumes  of  a  cubeb  cigarette.  "  I 
was  in  the  company  with  Dan  years  ago,  when  he  first 
started  in  the  business.  He  then  used  to  load  us  up  with 
the  story  that  his  salary  was  $75  per  week.  Every  Tues 
day  we  called  at  the  box-office  and  were  given  our 


DAN    MAGUINNESS'    SALARY.  19 

envelopes.  Dan  used  to  be  on  hand  regularly,  of  course, 
and  he  would  hastily  tear  his  envelope  open,  run  over  the 
bills,  tuck  them  into  his  vest-pocket,  and  then  throw  the 
envelope  away.  He  always  protested  that  he  received 
$75,  but  we  hardly  believed  it.  Well,  he  came  around 
one  day  when  the  'ghost  walked,'  and  he  went  through 
his  usual  motions,  excepting  that  he  tucked  the  crumpled 
envelope  into  his  vest-pocket,  threw  his  salary  away,  and 
walked  off.  We  saw  it,  and  as  soon  as  he.  turned  the 
corner  we  jumped  for  it.  When  he  hurried  back,  a  few 
moments  later,  pale  and  agitated,  to  look  for  his  lost  roll, 
it  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  of  course  none  of  us 
had  seen  it.  The  next  day  he  advertised  in  the  Boston 
Herald,  '  Lost — forty  dollars,'  and  he  never  boasted  of 
his  salary  after  that.  We  returned  his  money,  and  he 

hushed  us  up  with  a  portion  of  it." 

*  * 
* 

The  Proprietor,  who  had  been  up  before  the  cigar- 
case, "counting  the  house,"  walked  majestically  back  to  the 
end  of  the  bar  and  turned  off  the  solitary  gas-jet  which 
had  been  shedding  its  feeble  effulgence  over  the  group 
since  the  midnight  closing  hour.  "  You  fellows  will  have 
to  knock  off  now,"  he  said;  and  they  knocked  off  and 
filed  out  into  the  deserted  streets,  while  the  Purveyor 
figured  up  the  "  tabs." 


II. 


THE  TURNOVERS  INVITE  THE  MUSE — A  Few  Jingles  Sprung  Upon 
an  Unsuspecting  Public — The  Meeting  at  Cheltenham  Beach — 
"An  Ode  to  Beer" — Parody  on  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox's  Master 
piece — "The  Seven  Stages  of  the  Lush" — "  The  Old-Timer's 
Lament"— The  "One-Night  Stand"  in  Michigan— "  The  Yarn 
of  the  Manager  Bold." 

The  last  regular  meeting  of  the  Turnover  Club  was 
not  held  in  the  Usual  Resort,  but  was  called  to  order  out 
on  the  hotel  piazza,  at  Cheltenham  Beach,  a  resort  after 
ward  named  Cheataman  Beach  by  Will  McConnell — 
an  appropriate  name,  in  view  of  subsequent  events.  All 
of  the  members  were  present  excepting  the  Purveyor, 
who  was  compelled  to  remain  "on  watch"  in  the  Usual 
Resort,  to  slake  the  thirst  of  customers.  In  his  absence, 
the  hotel  barkeeper  was  elected  Purveyor  pro  tern.,  and 
he  acquitted  himself  admirably.  The  Manager  had 
opened  his  heart  and  his  purse,  and  proposed  that  the 
members  seek  a  relief  for  the  torrid  heat  somewhere  on 
the  cool  lake  shore.  His  kind  invitation  was  accepted 
with  great  alacrity  and  unanimity,  and  through  the  kind 
ness  of  a  gentlemanly  Illinois  Central  engineer,  the  party 
was  safely  landed  at  the  beach.  The  first  thing  they  did 
was  to  go  out  on  the  pier  and  load  their  respective  lungs 

full  of  lake  breeze. 

*  * 
* 

"  This  is  really  glorious,"  remarked  the  Agent;  "re 
minds  me  so  much  of  dear  old  Coney  Island.  Hope  the 
beer  is  better  here,  though.  At  Coney  they  have  stained- 
glass  beer-mugs  with  elongated  bottoms,  and  the 

021  > 


22  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

quantity  of  really  and  truly  beer  they  hold  wouldn't 
extinguish  a  match.  This  beer  is  much  better.  I  like 
to  sit  here  and  sip  it,  my  heated  brow  fanned  by  the 
cool  breezes  from  the  lake.  Reminds  me  of  that  pretty 
little  *  Ode  to  Beer  '  written  here  in  Chicago  by  George 
Arnold.  He  was  a  brilliant  and  well-known  New  York 
bohemian,  and  the  story  goes  that  he  was  here  on  a  visit. 
He  became  'flat  broke  '  (a  not  uncommon  circumstance 
with  him),  and  while  sipping  a  glass  of  beer  and  purring 
at  a  donated  cigar,  one  afternoon,  in  the  basement  at  the 
corner  of  Washington  and  State  streets,  he  took  a  bit 
of  wrapping-paper  which  was  lying  upon  the  table,  and 
dashed  off  the  few  stanzas.  He  tried  to  use  them  as  a 
'  pot-boiler'  and  sell  them  to  a  daily  paper  here,  but  the 
poetry  market  was  dull.  The  poem  was  subsequently 
printed  in  a  New  York  paper,  and  prominent  literary 
critics  pronounce  it  one  of  the  finest  bits  in  the  language. 
It  runs  like  this: 

"Here 

With  my  beer 

I   sit, 

While  golden  moments  flit; 

Alas! 

They  pass 

Unheeded  by, 

And, 

As  they  fly, 

I, 

Being  dry, 

Sit  idly  sipping  here 

My  beer. 

"  Oh,  finer  far 
Than  fame  or  riches  are 
The  graceful  smoke-wreaths  of  this  free  cigar. 
Why 
Should  I 


"AN    ODE    TO    BEER."  23 

Weep,  wail,  or  sigh  ? 

What  if  luck  has  passed  me  by  ? 

What  if  my  hopes  are  dead — 

My  pleasures  fled? 

Have  I  not  still 

My  fill 

Of  right  good  cheer — 

Cigars  and  beer  ? 

"  Go,  whining  youth  ! 
Forsooth  ! 
Go,  weep  and  wail, 
Sigh,  and  grow  pale  ! 
Weave  melancholy  rhymes 
On  the  old  times, 

Whose  joys  like  shadowy  ghosts  ajjpear, 
But  leave  me  to  my  beer. 
Gold  is  dross — 
Love  is  loss  — 

So,  if  I  gulp  my  sorrows  down 
And  see  them  drown 
In  foamy  draughts  of  old  nut-brown, 
Then  do  I  wear  the  crown 
Without  the  cross." 

#   # 
* 

"  That's  a  very  pretty  thing,"  commented  the  Actor. 
"I'll  think  of  that  whenever  I'm  in  hard  luck.  A  glass 
of  good  beer  is  a  great  comforter  when  a  man  is  hustling 
through  a  long  summer  without  friends  or  money.  It's 
different  when  you  are  drawing  a  salary  and  can  drink 
wine.  I  tell  you  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  had  a  great  head 
if  she  really  did  write  that  '  Laugh,  and  the  World 
Laughs  With  You  '  poem.  I  took  a  shy  at  that  idea 
myself  the  other  day,  and  though  I'm  not  much  of  a 
poet,  I'll  take  chances,  with  your  kind  permission,  and 
reel  off  the  effort  for  you.  If  the  Wheeler-Joyce  com 
bination  brings  suit  against  me,  you'll  have  to  back  me 
up.  Here  goes: 


24  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  Flush,  and  the  crowd  drinks  with  you; 

Broke,  and  you  drink  alone, 
Provided,  of  course,  you  can  borrow  a  dime, 

Or  a  barkeeper  you  can  'bone.' 
Win,   and  your  friends  all    join  you; 

Lose,  you  are  known  nowhere; 
A  wallet  full  has  a  greater  pull 

Than  a  pocket-book  rilled  with  air. 

"  Buy,  and  all  men  will  love  you  ! 

Pawn,  and  they  turn  and  flee; 
They're  after  your  money,  as  fly  is  for  honey, 

But  your  poverty  they  can't  see. 
Ride,  and  you  pay  the  car  fare; 

Walk,  and  they  all  roll  by. 
They  are  quick  to  hear  if  you  sing  out  '  Beer  ! ' 

But  never  do  they  call  '  Zwei ! ' 

"  Lunch,  and  you  settle  the  treat; 

If  you're  hungry,  they  never  invite; 
Earn  and  spend,  and  keep  up  your  end, 

But  few  men  will  treat  you  right. 
There  is  room  in  the  gorgeous  bar-room 

For  liquor  and  cracked  ice; 
But  one  by  one  we  must  all  sneak  home 

If  we  haven't  got  the  price. " 

*    * 
* 

"Speaking  of  parodies,"  remarked  the  Agent,  after 
the  applause  had  subsided,  as  he  blew  the  white-caps 
from  off  the  surface  of  his  glass  schooner,  "reminds 
me  of  the  time  the  Actor  played  Orlando  in  'As  You 
Like  It,'  with  Kelly's  Shakesperian  Megatherians. 
There  was  a  fellow  named  Percy  Fitzmaurice,  who  used 
to  go  on  for  Jacques,  and  he  often  did  a  parody  on 
the  '  Seven  Ages '  speech  in  place  of  the  original.  It 
went  much  better  in  the  'one-night  stands,'  too.  I 
believe  he  called  it  the  'Seven  Stages  of  the  Lush!' 
I'll  give  it  to  you  if  you  like."  And  there  was  a  unani- 


"  THE    SEVEN    STAGES    OF    THE    LUSH.  2f> 

mous  demand  for  it,  possibly  because  it  was  thought  that 
another  round  of  applause  would  produce  another  reward 
ing  round  of  applause,  the  Actor  having  responded  to 
plaudits  in  that  pleasing  way.  So  the  Agent  arose  and 
delivered,  in  a  very  fifty-dollar-per-week  declamation, 
the  following: 

"All  the   world  will  drink, 

And  all  the  men  and  boys  will  help  it  out; 

They  have  their  favorite  beverages  and  haunts, 

And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  bar-rooms, 

His  habits  being  seven  stages. 

At  first  the  dudelet, 

Taking  a  dash  of  ginger  in  his  lemonade; 

Then  the  older  dude,  with  his  small  salary, 

Buying  the  beer,  unwillingly,  for  friends; 

And  then  the  quiet  drinker, 

Hitting  the  bottle  with  no  great  effort, 

Excepting  a  slight  raising  of  the  eyebrow; 

Then  a  Board  of  Trade  man,  full  of  mixed  drinks,  and  beery, 
like  his  pard; 

Jealous  of  great  drinkers,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 

Seeking  to  pour  eight  barrels,  if  he  can  find  his  mouth; 

And  then  the  Justice  of  the  Peace, 

In  fair,  round  belly,  with  Isaac  Cook's  lined, 

With  bleary  eyes,  and  breath  all  full  of  cloves, 

Full  of  gin  fizz  and  modern  whisky  sours; 

And  so  he  plays  his  engagement. 

The  sixth  age  shifts  into  the  lean  and  bloated  bum, 

With  bunions  on  nose  and  thirst  inside, 

His  Sunday  suit  all  torn,  and  his  ulster  pledged; 

And  his  noble  voice  as  husky  as  green  corn, 

Wheezing  like  the  whistle  of  an  asthmatic  steamer. 

Last  scene  of  all,  that  ends  this  strange,  eventful  tale 

In  the  inebriates'  home,  and  mere  oblivion, 

Sans  wine,  sans  beer,  sans  credit,  sans — everything. " 

*    * 
* 

"  Bravo  !  "  yelled    the   Manager,  and   the  diplomatic 
applause  which  followed  produced  the  wished-for  result. 


26  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

The  Reporter  had  been  a  little  uncertain  about  this,  and 
was  making  his  beer  last  as  long  as  possible;  but  when 
he  saw  the  dawn  ahead  he  hastily  gulped  down  what  he 
had  left,  and  came  up  smiling  for  a  third  round.  When 
he  had  secured  his  share  of  it,  he  volunteered  to  recite  a 
little  poem  about  the  old-time  actor  who  saw  nothing 
good  in  the  present,  and  was  forever  talking  about  the 
"  palmy  days  of  the  drama."  The  poem,  he  said,  was 
entitled  "The  Old-Timer's  Lament,"  and  it  ran  like  this  : 

"  The  '  old-timer '  sat  on  a  dressing-room  chair, 

And  lamented  the  drama's  decay; 
He  sagely  spoke  of  those  good  old  times 

When  he  had  had  his  day. 
He  spoke  of  Burton,  the  elder  Booth, 

And  sorrowfully  shook  his  head, 
And  said  the  drama  was  past  and  gone — 

Then  he  borrowed  a  little  red. 

"  He  spoke  of  his  Hamlet,  his  Macbeth,  and  Lear — 

How  they  differed  from  those  of  to-day; 
How  press  and  public  pronounced  him  peer 

Of  any  who  e'er  held  sway. 
Of  the  public  he  spoke;  with  sarcasm  keen 

Of  the  play  we  did  that  night; 
He  declared  that  the  drama  was  of  the  past — 

Then  he  borrowed  a  little  white. 

"  '  The  young  upstarts  with  more  cheek  than  brains,' 

Who  '  pushed  themselves  to  the  fore,' 
Were  mentioned  by  '  his  old-times  rocks,' 

For  they  smote  his  heart's  deep  core. 
*  I'd  like  to  see  them  in  a  round  of  parts; 

They'd  be  lowered  a  peg  or  two. 
The  drama  now  has  gone  to  the  dogs ' — 

Then  he  borrowed  a  little  glue. 

"  '  The  grease  paints  they  use  to  make  up  the  face 

Were  not  used  in  the  palmy  days; 
A  little  burnt  paper  or  white  off  the  walls 
Was  enough  for  those  good  old  plays. 


"THE  ONE-NIGHT  STAND."  27 

No  elaborate  dressing,  no  furniture  grand, 

Were  needed  to  draw  houses  big; 
Ah,  the  drama  now  is  not  as  then  ! ' 

And  he  borrowed  the  youngest  man's  wig. 

"  '  The  managers  now  are  not  actors  as  then; 

The  big  salaries  that  they  pay 
Are  all  a  delusion,  a  myth  and  a  snare — 

At  least  they  don't  come  my  way. 
The  leading  man  now  has  no  fire  or  force — 

Act  ?    Why,  who  says  he  can  ? ' 
With  a  sigh  and  a  moan,  and  a  face  of  his  own, 

He  goes  on  for  a  '  second  old  man.'  " 

*   * 

* 

"  That's  a  good  one,"  put  in  the  Night  Clerk,  after 
the  usual  ceremonies,  "  and  I  have  another  little  one  on 
*  the  perfesh '  here  myself.  If  you  have  ever  had  the 
misfortune  to  visit  what  is  professionally  termed  a  '  one- 
night  stand,'  you  will  certainly  appreciate  the  force  of 
the  lines.  Here  goes  : 

"  The  'one-night  stand'  on  Michigan  sand 

The  hall-owner  pictures  with  eloquence  grand, 
And  says  that  his  is  the  best  in  the  land, 

When  he  wants  you  to  give  him  a  '  date.' 
The  '  public  is  hungry  for  just  such  a  show/ 
The  '  last  one  they  had  was  two  months  ago, ' 
And  '  now  folks  are  crazy  to  turn  out  and  go,' 

So  '  his  locals '  is  prone  to  dilate. 

"  The  day  you  appear  the  advance  sale  is  light, 

But  you're  told  it  will  surely  '  pick  up  before  night,' 
And,  though  'the  prospects  don't  look  very  bright,' 

You'll  have  '  all  you  can  get  in  the  hall.' 
This  prophecy  trite  is  true,  strange  to  state, 
And,  as  the  clock  marks  the  hour  of  eight, 
You're  told  that  '  the  folks  here  always  are  late,' 

And  sometimes  they  don't  come  at  all. 

"  The  music  that's  furnished  makes  singers  feel  blue — 
A  cornet,  a  bass,  a  fiddle  or  two — 


28  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

They  laugh  at  the  show,  but  they  won't  catch  a  'cue,' 

And  are  always  a  little  bit  late. 

Of  course  you  can't  kick,  for  they  all  have  a  trade — 
Some  work  at  the  foundry,  some  handle  the  spade; 
Strong,  healthy  men,  yet  of  weak  notes  afraid, 

And  they  leave  the  'comique'  to  his  fate. 

' '  The  village  hotel  is  not  at  all  swell — 
One  towel,  queer  soap,  no  gas,  no  bell — 
The  eggs  always  out,  the  chicken  as  well, 

And  breakfast  is  over  at  eight. 
The  landlord  modestly  asks  '  two  per  day,' 
And  on  the  top  floor  stows  '  the  troupers '  away, 
And  worries  all  night  lest  they  will  not  pay, 
For  '  shows  have  done  badly  of  late.'  " 
*    * 
* 

"  I  have  heard  both  of  those  last  ones  before,  though 
I  do  not  think  they  have  ever  been  published,"  put  in 
the  Professor.  "  They  were  written  by  young  Charlie 
Warren,  the  comedian,  who  has  a  very  keen  sense  of 
humor.  Now  I  have  one,  of  which  I  do  not  know  who 
the  author  is,  though  it  sounds  like  Louis  Harrison,  the 
comedian,  who  is  great  at  clever  jingles.  It  is  a  parody 
on  'The  Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell/  one  of  W.  S.  Gilbert's 
celebrated  '  Bab  Ballads,'  and  is  called  '  The  Yarn  of  the 
Manager  Bold.'  It  runs  like  this: 

"  'Twas  near  the  town  they  call  Detroit, 

In  the  State  of  Mich-i-gan, 
That  I  met  on  the  rocks,  with  a  '  property-box,' 

A  gloomy  theatrical  man. 
"  His  'o.  p.'  heel  was  quite  worn  off, 

And  weary  and  sad  was  he; 
I  saw  this  '  fake  '  give  himself  a  shake, 
And  he  croaked  in  a  guttural  key, 

"  Oh,  I  am  the  star,  and  the  manager  bold, 

And  the  leading  and  juvenile  man, 
And  the  comedy  pet,  and  the  pert  soubrette, 
And  the  boss  of  the  '  box-sheet  plan.' 


"THE  YARN  OF  THE  MANAGER  BOLD."  29 

"  He  wiped  his  eye  on  a  three-sheet  bill 

('Twas  lettered  in  blue  and  red). 
He  cursed  the  fates  and  the  open  '  dates; ' 
So  I  spoke  to  him,  and  said: 

' '  It's  little  I  know  of  the  mimic  show, 

But  if  you  will  explain  to  me — 
I'll  eat  my  vest  if  I  can  digest 
How  you  can  possibly  be 

"  At  once  a  star,  and  a  manager  bold, 

And  a  leading  and  juvenile  man, 
And  a  comedy  pet,  and  a  pert  soubrette, 
And  the  boss  of  the  '  box-sheet  plan.' 

"  He  ran  his  hand  through  his  dusty  hair, 

And  pulled  down  a  brunette  cuff, 
And  on  the  rocks,  with  his  'property-box,' 
He  told  me  his  story  tough: 

"  'Twas  in  the  year  of  '83, 

When  a  party  of  six  and  me 
Went  on  the  road  with  a  show  that's  knowed 
As  a  musical  com-i-dee. 

"  I  writ  it  myself — it  knocked  'em  cold; 

It  made  'em  shriek  and  roar. 
But  we  struck  a  reef  and  come  to  grief 
On  the  west  of  the  Michigan  shore. 

"  Each  night  it  rained,  or  snowed,  or  blowed, 

And  when  the  weather  was  clear, 
They'd  say,  '  It's  sad  your  house  is  bad, 
But  wait  till  you  come  next  year. ' 

"We  traveled  along  from  town  to  town, 

A  tryin'  to  change  our  luck, 
With  nothin'  to  taste  but  bill-board  paste 
And  the  '  property  '  canvas  duck. 

"  At  last  we  got  to  Kankakee, 
All  travel-stained  and  sore; 
But  the  star  got  mad  and  shook  us  bad, 
For  a  clerk  in  a  dry-goods  store. 


30  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  And  then  the  leading  heavy-man 

Informed  me,  with  a  frown, 
He  was  going  away  the  very  next  day 
With  a  circus  then  in  town. 

' '  The  comedy  pet  and  the  pert  soubrette 

Engaged  as  cook  and  waiter — 
They  are  now  doing  well  in  a  small  hotel 
Near  the  Kankakee  the-ay-ter. 

"  Then  only  the  '  comic '  and  me  remained — 

For  to  leave  he  hadn't  the  heart; 
Each  laugh  was  a  drop  of  blood  to  him, 
And  he  loved  that  comedy  part. 

"  We  played  one  night  to  a  right  good  house — 

Eight  dollars  and  a  half; 
But  to  my  ill  luck  in  my  lines  I  stuck, 
And  I  queered  the  comedian's  laugh. 

*'  He  fell  down  dead  of  a  broken  heart; 

The  coroner,  old  and  sage, 
Said  his  brain  was  cracked  with  a  bad  attackt 
Of  '  the  center  of  the  stage.' 

"  I  played  that  piece  all  by  myself 

For  a  week  in  Kankakee; 
O'er  rails  and  rocks,  with  this  '  property- box,' 
I've  walked  to  where  I  be. 

"  I  never  say  an  actor's  good — 

I  always  damn  a  play — 
I  always  croak,  and  a  single  joke 
I  have,  which  is  to  say — 

"  That  I  am  the  star,  and  the  manager  bold, 

And  the  leading  and  juvenile  man, 
And  the  comedy  pet,  and  the  pert  soubrette, 
And  the  boss  of  the  '  box-sheet  plan.'  " 

*  # 
* 

"  Say,  boys,"  said  the  Agent,  "  I  guess  we  have  wor 
shiped  enough  at  the  shrine  of  the  muse  for  one  day, 


ADJOURNMENT.  31 

and,  besides,  it's  time  for  our  train."  And,  as  the  sun 
slowly  sank  to  rest  in  the  western  heavens,  the  members 
of  the  Turnover  Club  voted  for  adjournment,  boarded 
an  Illinois  Central  smoker,  and  started  for  the  busy,  teem 
ing,  bustling  metropolis  of  the  great  lakes. 


III. 


THE  AGENT  IN  DISGRACE — One  of  His  Numerous  Falls  by  the  Way 
side—Experience  With  a  Total  Wreck— Louis  Sharpe  and  John 
Stetson — Charlie  Reed's  Morgue  Keeper — The  Wonderful  Sys 
tem — The  Wily  Umbrella  Peddler — Robson  and  Crane  Astonish 
Nat  Goodwin — John  L.  Sullivan's  Actor  Friends — Stetson's 
Acoustic  Properties. 

It  was  past  midnight.  The  Usual  Resort  of  the  Turn 
over  Club  would  have  been  shrouded  in  utter  darkness 
were  it  not  for  the  rather  feeble  glimmer  shed  about  by 
the  cigar-lighter  at  the  end  of  the  bar.  At  first  glance 
one  would  have  declared  the  place  deserted,  but  muttered 
conversation  from  the  vicinity  of  a  table  in  the  rear  gave 
evidence  of  life.  Peering  into  the  darkness,  one  might 
have  discerned  the  dim  outlines  of  all  the  members 
with  the  exception  of  the  rugged  contour  of  the  Agent. 
The  Purveyor  snored  softly  in  a  chair  tilted  back  against 
the  huge  ice-chest.  His  was  not  an  aggressive  snore, 
but  a  plaintive,  pleading,  somnolent  respiration,  like 
unto  the  bubbling  of  boiling  mush.  The  Proprietor  sat 
in  front  of  the  table,  his  feet  reposing  on  a  neighboring 
chair,  and  his  eyes  fastened  upon  the  front  door.  He 
spoke  not,  and  the  only  sound  heard  was  that  of  the 
sibilant  conversation  going  on  between  the  Manager  and 
the  Reporter.  The  Actor  sat  aloof,  and  occasionally 
permitted  the  beverage  in  front  of  him  to  gurgle  past 
his  collar.  To  the  most  casual  observer  it  was  evident 
that  there  was  a  hen  on,  and  that  the  Turnovers  were 
anxiously  waiting  its  triumphant  cackle.  On  the  street 
without,  all  was  still.  Suddenly,  a  blood-curdling  shriek 

3  (33) 


34  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

rang  out  upon  the  clear  night  air  and  came  ambling  in 
through  the  open  transom.  It  aroused  the  slumbering 
Purveyor,  and  brought  the  members  to  their  various 
feet.  It  was  the  long-looked-for  cackle.  The  miss 
ing  Agent  had  arrived — but  what  was  his  condition  ? 
Again  the  silence  was  broken;  this  time  by  the  lurid 
bric-a-brac  of  a  drunken  argument  with  an  obdurate 
hackman.  This  battle  of  words  waged  fiercely  for  a 
few  minutes,  but  it  finally  became  evident  to  the 
watchers  inside  that  some  sort  of  a  settlement  had  been 
arrived  at,  and  they  realized  that  the  Agent  had  been  out 
with  his  paint-pot,  decorating  the  city  with  a  rich  ver- 
million  tint. 

The  front  door  was  tried,  and  then  the  latch  was 
rattled  vigorously.  The  Proprietor  cast  an  appealing 
glance  at  the  Purveyor,  and  that  worthy  went  forward  to 
admit  the  disturbance,  who  had  begun  a  life-and-death 
struggle  with  a  bar  of  "  Sweet  Violets."  The  key  was 
turned,  the  door  thrown  open,  and  the  Agent  fell  in  with 
a  dull,  sickening  thud.  He  was  assisted  to  his  feet,  and 
led  by  the  Purveyor  into  the  presence  of  his  disgraced 
fellows,  every  one  of  whom  looked  the  gloom  he  felt 
shrouding  his  mind.  With  a  trembling  hand  the  Pro 
prietor  turned  up  the  gas  and  revealed  the  form  and  con 
dition  of  the  fallen  Agent.  By  a  unanimous  vote  it 
was  decided  that  he  was  a  sight,  and  his  pall-bearers  care 
fully  poised  his  person  against  the  ice-chest,  in  order  that 
he  might  not  tip  over  and  spill  any  of  the  liquor  he  had 
on  board.  In  this  position,  he  was  soon  wrapped  in 
that  deep  slumber  which  knows  an  awakening  through 
the  agency  of  a  large  head — a  head  the  size  of  which 
compels  its  unfortunate  possessor,  if  standing  on  the 
main  street,  to  walk  a  block  away  if  he  desires  to  scratch 
either  side  of  it.  In  order  to  clinch  the  resolution  that 


THE    AGENT    IN    DISGRACE.  35 

the  Agent  was  a  sight,  the  vote  upon  it  was  reconsidered 
and  repassed. 

A  careful  inspection  of  this  "sleeper  "  who  had  been 
picked  up,  lent  the  impression  that  he  had  been  dallying 
with  a  dynamite  bomb.  His  vest  was  open,  and  the 
lower  button  of  his  plaid  cutaway  found  a  resting-place  in 
its  uppermost  button-hole.  One  of  his  cuffs  had  climbed 
up  on  the  outside  of  his  coat-sleeve,  and  his  necktie 
hung  out  over  the  back  of  his  collar.  The  top  of  a 
vinegar  cruet  peeped  out  of  his  breeches-pocket,  and  the 
crown  of  his  derby  had  entirely  disappeared.  A  liberal 
portion  of  soft-shell  crab  rested  upon  his  shirt  front, 
and  altogether  he  presented  the  miscellaneous  aspect  of 
an  Irish  stew.  From  one  of  his  vest-pockets  protruded  " 
the  crumpled  corner  of  a  bit  of  paper,  and  the  Manager 
ventured  to  secure  this.  It  proved  to  be  a  pass  from 
Chicago  to  New  York.  [NOTE.  —  This  occurred  before 
the  passage  of  the  Inter-State  Commerce  Bill.  —  AuthorJ] 
The  pass  had  been  renewed  so  often  during  the  progress 
of  the  Agent's  protracted  spree,  that  it  resembled  a 
Russian  war  map. 


* 
* 


"  According  to  what  appears  to  be  the  last  renewal  of 
this  pass,"  said  the  Manager,  after  a  close  inspection,  "  it 
expires  to-morrow.  It  would  hardly  do,  however,  to  put 
our  unfortunate  friend  on  a  train  in  the  morning. 
Besides,  the  pass  is  over  the  Baltimore  &  Ohio  Rail 
road,  and  any  man,  even  without  such  a  head  as  the 
Agent  will  have  when  he  wakes  up,  is  liable  to  be  sea 
sick  on  that  serpentine  road.  I  remember  once  that  I 
was  traveling  from  Philadelphia,  over  that  road,  with 
Nat  Goodwin  and  Ned  Thorne,  just  after  they  had 
started  out  with  their  play,  '  The  Black  Flag.'  Thorne 
was  very  seasick,  and  when  the  conductor  came  through 


36  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

the  car  in  the  morning,  Ned  grabbed  the  back  of  a  seat 
to  keep  his  balance,  and  said:  *  Say,  conduc,  I  don't  see 
how  you  induce  people  to  travel  over  this  d — -d  crooked 
road  of  yours.'  The  conductor,  who  had  acquired  his 
sea-legs,  smiled,  and  replied,  '  People  admire  the  grand 
scenery  along  the  line,'  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand  toward 
the  panorama  that  was  chasing  itself  around  corners  just 
outside  of  the  windows.  '  Scenery  be  blowed,'  was  Ned's 
rejoinder.  'Why,  I've  got  a  car-load  of  finer  scenery 
than  that  on  this  very  train.'" 


*  * 
* 


"  Louis  Sharpe,  of  McVicker's,  used  to  be  John  Stet 
son's  stage-manager,"  put  in  the  Actor.  "  He  was  with 
him  in  Boston.  One  day  Stetson  came  to  the  theater 
and  saw  in  front  of  the  door  an  immense  sign,  reading, 

*  Grand  matinee  to-day  at  two  o'clock,  sharp  ! '     When 
John  saw  this  he  grew  pale  with  anger,  and  rushed  inside 
to   find    Louis.     When   he  discovered  him,  he  dragged 
him  out  to  the  sidewalk,  pointed  at  the  sign,  and  yelled: 

*  You  d — d  little  cuss,  I   want  you  to  distinctly   under 
stand  that  I  am  the  manager  of  this  theater  !     Now  you 
have  that  sign  painted  over,  and  make  it  read,  '  Grand 
matinee  to-day  at  two  o'clock,  Stetson.'     I  played  with 
Stetson  once,  and  the  manager  of  our  company  told  him 
that  the  orchestra  must  be  enlarged  for  our  engagement. 
Stetson  said:     '  This  orchestra  of   mine  is  big  enough 
for  anybody.    I  watched  it  last  week,  and  I  see  that  that 
cuss  in  the  corner  with  the  drums  don't  play  half  the 
time.     If  he'd  only  be  made  to  attend  to  his  work,  the 
orchestra  would  answer  all  purposes,  and  I  intend  to 
read  the  riot  act  to  him.'  " 


*  * 
* 


"  I  met  Charlie  Reed,  the  comedian,  to-day,"  remarked 
the  Proprietor,  "  and  he  told  me  a  little  fairy  tale  about 


CHARLIE  REED'S  MORGUE  KEEPER.  37 

a  little  hunchback  who  officiates  as  janitor  of  the  morgue 
out  in  San  Francisco.  The  man's  duty  is  to  receive  all 
dead  bodies  brought  in  there,  and  to  care  for  them 
properly.  For  this  work  he  receives  a  regular  stipend, 
which  is  occasionally  increased  by  a  generous  fee  from 
some  wealthy  party,  the  body  of  whose  friend  or  relative 
is  found  on  one  of  the  old  man's  marble  slabs.  One 
day  a  wealthy  San  Francisco  Irishman  turned  up  missing, 
and,  after  a  long  search,  his  two  sons  found  the  body  at 
the  morgue.  They  arranged  for  a  swell  funeral,  for 
which  the  leading  undertaker  of  the  Coast  provided  an 
elaborate  casket.  This  was  taken  to  the  morgue,  and 
the  hunchback,  who  had  prepared  the  corpse  for  burial, 
lifted  the  body  and  carried  it  toward  the  coffin.  As  he 
did  so,  the  lower  jaw  fell,  and  one  of  the  sons  cried  out: 
'Charlie,  this  can't  be  our  father!  The  old  gent  had  a 
good  set  of  teeth,  and  these  remains  have  none.'  Charlie 
looked,  and  said,  *  That's  so,  John  ; '  and,  after  a  close 
inspection,  they  concluded  that  it  was  not  the  body  of 
their  missing  parent.  They  ordered  the  undertaker  to 
remove  the  casket,  and  followed  him  out.  The  hunch 
back,  who  had  confidently  expected  a  particularly  large 
fee,  stood  with  the  corpse  in  his  arms  and  sadly  watched 
their  receding  figures  until  the  door  closed  behind  them. 
Then  he  lifted  the  remains  back  to  the  marble  slab, 
gazed  pityingly  at  them,  and  said,  in  tones  of  deep 
reproach:  'You  d — d  fool!  If  you'd  have  kept  your 

mouth  shut,  you'd  have  had  a  h — 1  of  a  fine  funeral  ! ' ' 

*  * 
* 

"  I  was  talking  to-day  with  a  commercial  friend  of 
mine,"  said  the  Reporter,  "  and  he  told  me  about  the 
experience  of  a  Hebrew  drummer  who  dropped  in  at 
his  place  the  other  day  to  show  his  samples.  The  young 
man  was  very  pertinacious,  and  the  first  man  he  en- 


00  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

countered  was  the  proprietor  of  the  store,  who  told  him 
that  his  buyer  was  upstairs,  and  that  they  didn't  care 
for  anything  in  his  line  anyway.  But  the  drummer 
insisted,  and  started  upstairs  to  see  the  buyer,  who  was 
busily  engaged  with  a  customer.  He  saw  the  young 
drummer  approaching,  guessed  his  errand,  and  waved 
him  off,  but  he  opened  his  sample-case  and  started  to 
expatiate  upon  the  merits  of  his  goods.  Finally,  he 
became  so  annoying  that  the  exasperated  buyer  grabbed 
him  by  the  collar,  led  him  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and 
kicked  him  down.  When  he  reached  the  first  floor  the 
proprietor  saw  him  coming,  and,  divining  what  had  hap 
pened,  ran  to  meet  him,  and  kicked  him  as  far  as  the 
office.  A  salesman  who  happened  to  be  passing  at  the 
time  took  a  playful  kick  at  the  unfortunate  Hebrew,  and 
sent  him  as  far  as  the  door.  Here  the  porter  was  stand 
ing,  and  he  grabbed  the  young  man  by  the  collar  and 
kicked  him  into  the  street.  He  fell  into  the  gutter  with 
a  dull  thud,  but  his  business  sense  did  not  desert  him  for 
a  moment.  Picking  himself  up,  he  looked  the  store  over 

admiringly,  and  ejaculated:   '  Mein  Got,  vot  a  sysdem  !  ' 

*  * 

u  Say,"  blurted  out  the  Purveyor,  "  I  had  a  new  game 
sprung  on  me  the  other  night.  I  came  out  of  Hooley's, 
after  the  show,  and  found  a  man  at  the  entrance  standing 
under  an  umbrella  and  selling  duplicates  of  it  for  fifty 
cents  each.  The  sidewalk  was  very  wet,  and,  as  I  had  a 
lady  with  me,  I  was  obliged  to  part  reluctantly  with  half 
a  dollar.  It  was  perfectly  clear  and  pleasant  when  we 
went  into  the  theater,  and  I  was  surprised  at  the  sudden 
shower.  We  started  off  under  the  cheap  umbrella,  how 
ever,  but  when  we  reached  the  Sherman  House  1  found 
the  sidewalk  dry,  and,  looking  overhead,  I  saw  the  moon. 
That  d — d  umbrella  peddler  had  watered  the  sidewalk 


ROBSON    AND    CRANE    ASTONISH    NAT    GOODWIN.        30 

with  a  sprinkling-pot  for  half  a  block  in  front  of  the  the 
ater  in  order  to  dispose  of  his  old  stock.     It  made  me 

sore  to  be  bunkoed  in  that  manner." 

*  * 

* 

"  Oh,  our  city  is  full  of  men  looking  after  just  such  easy 
marks  as  you,"  put  in  the  Manager.  "But  your  speaking 
of  Hooley's,  reminds  me  of  the  story  Billy  Crane,  the 
comedian,  told  me  the  other  day,  about  how  he  and  Rob- 
son  came  to  surprise  Nat  Goodwin  on  the  stage  Monday 
night.  Such  a  thought  never  entered  their  heads,  he 
said,  until  Louis  James,  late  leading  man  with  Lawrence 
Barrett,  proposed  it.  He  was  sitting  in  their  dressing- 
room,  and  he  asked  how  long  a  wait  they  had  after  the 
second  act.  When  they  told  him  twelve  minutes,  he 
suggested  the  surprise  to  Nat,  saying  that  they  would 
just  about  catch  the  carnival  in  the  last  act  of  the  '  Skat 
ing  Rink,'  and  would  offend  no  proprieties  by  going. 
Well,  they  consented,  and  James  went  over  to  look  for 
the  opportunity.  After  the  two  Dromios  had  responded 
to  the  recalls  at  the  close  of  the  second  act,  they  tied 
their  overcoats  across  their  shoulders,  jumped  into  the 
carriage  in  waiting  at  the  stage  door,  and  were  quickly 
whirled  over  to  Hooley's  back  entrance.  There  they 
found  James  awaiting  them.  He  cried,  excitedly,  *  Just 
in  time  !  Nat's  doing  his  imitations!  Rush  !'  and  the 
Dromios  cast  aside  their  overcoats,  dashed  down  past  the 
veteran  stage-door  keeper;  by  the  bewildered  Cool  White, 
the  stage-manager,  who  ran  after  them  and  vainly  tried 
to  stop  them;  past  the  astonished  actors,  whose  heads 
popped  out  through  dressing-room  doors;  they  mounted 
the  stair-way  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  were  on  the  stage  in 
a  twinkling.  Nat  was  giving  his  imitation  of  Barrett,  and 
had  his  back  to  them  as  they  tripped  on  and  threw  their 
arms  around  his  neck.  Looking  up  into  his  startled  face, 


40  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

they  both  squeaked  out,  in  Robson's  treble,  '  Welcome, 
dearest  brother,'  and  Nat  found  voice  fora  characteristic 
ejaculation  as  they  rushed  off  and  down  the  stairs  to  their 
waiting  carriage.  They  were  driven  rapidly  back  to  the 
stage  of  the  Grand,  from  which  they  had  been  absent 
exactly  five  minutes,  and  Joe  Brooks,  their  manager,  who 
entered  their  dressing-room  a  moment  later,  would  not 
believe  that  they  had  been  on  Hooley's  stage  until  both 
confessed  to  it.  The  thing  could  not  have  been  worked 

better  had  it  been  planned  for  weeks  beforehand." 

*  # 

* 

"  John  L.  Sullivan  is  a  great  friend  of  Crane  and 
Goodwin,  you  know,"  said  the  Professor.  "  He  has  been 
here  during  the  week,  and  the  other  day  he  ran  across 
Tommy  Shea,  who  is  Robson  and  Crane's  business  man 
ager.  i  Say,  Tom,'  he  blurted  out,  '  where's  Billy  ? '  Mr. 
Shea  replied  that  Mr.  Crane  was  stopping  at  the  Grand 
Pacific.  *  Tus  he  know  I'm  in  town  ? '  asked  the  slug 
ger,  with  an  injured  air.  He  knew  the  comedian  well, 
and  the  fact  that  he  had  not  hunted  him  up  pained  him 
deeply.  He  admires  Crane  and  Goodwin  very  much, 
and  in  a  party  talking  of  professional  people  here,  the 
other  day,  he  said:  '  Talkin'  'bout  acters,  t'ere's  on'y  two 
genelmen  in  de  perfeshun.  Dat's  Billy  Crane  and  Nat 
Goodwin — all  de  rest  is  duffs  ; '  and  his  verdict  was  ac 
cepted  without  a  murmur." 

*  * 
* 

"  Your  reference  awhile  ago  to  John  Stetson," 
remarked  the  Proprietor,  "  reminded  me  that  I  saw  him 
during  my  recent  trip  East.  He  showed  me  a  very  fine 
lithograph  of  Salvini,  the  tragedian,  hanging  in  the  pri 
vate  office  of  his  Boston  Theater.  In  one  corner  of  the 
frame  surrounding  it  was  a  printed  card  bearing  Salvini's 
name.  I  pronounced  the  lithograph  a  fine  piece  of  work, 


STETSON'S  ACOUSTIC  PROPERTIES.  41 

which  it  really  was,  and  asked  John  if  that  was  Salvini's 
autograph  in  the  corner.  He  appeared  perplexed,  and 
did  not  answer.  In  a  moment  he  turned  and  asked, 
1  What  did  you  say  ? '  I  replied,  '  I  asked  if  that  was 
Salvini's  autograph  in  the  corner.'  He  looked  rather 
blank  for  a  minute,  and  then  said:  'To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I'm  d — d  if  I  know.'  I  have  often  thought  that  all 
these  stories  on  John  Stetson  are  rather  far-fetched. 
There  is  one,  however,  that  I  can  bet  on.  He  was 
remodeling  his  theater  at  the  time  I  was  there,  and 
he  called  me  in  to  ask  my  opinion  of  the  changes  he  was 
making.  I  carefully  inspected  the  altered  interior  of  the 
theater,  and  then  told  him  I  thought  that  the  acous 
tic  properties  had  been  destroyed.  '  The  deuce  they 
have,'  he  replied,  indignantly.  *  If  anyone  has  destroyed 
those  properties,  then  it's  that  blasted  property-man  of 
mine  !  ' " 


*  * 
* 


"  Supper  is  now  ready  in  the  dining-car!  "  cried  the 
Purveyor,  as  he  threw  open  both  lids  of  the  nickel 
cracker  and  cheese  casket  and  pushed  the  dish  of  olives 
toward  the  members.  Some  time  was  spent  in  a  discus 
sion  of  the  viands,  and  the  worn-out  Agent  was  deposited 
in  the  ice-chest,  after  which  the  Purveyor  turned  off  the 
gas,  made  a  record  of  the  state  of  the  meter,  and 
closed  up. 


IV. 


A  NIGHT  SPOILED  BY  THE  TOOTHACHE — An  Unruly  Molar  Makes 
Itself  Conspicuous — The  Agent's  Tooth  Pulled — Edwin  Booth's 
Mistakes  in  "  Hamlet" — Charlie  Frohman's  Actor  Friends — 
Nat  Goodwin  Bluffs  Sullivan — Colonel  Boozby's  "Uncle  Tom" 
Show — John  Russell's  Hustling — George  Ryer  Fools  Professor 
Herrmann. 

When  the  gavel  fell  at  last  night's  meeting  of  the 
Turnover  Club,  the  Agent  removed  a  large  piece  of 
tobacco  from  the  midst  of  his  back  teeth,  and  remarked 
that  he  had  been  a  martyr  to  toothache  during  the  week. 
"  Last  Monday,"  he  said,  "  I  was  in  here,  partaking  of 
one  of  the  Purveyor's  celebrated  clam-chowders,  and  I 
accidentally  ran  across  one  of  his  macadam  clams.  It 
caught  two  of  my  back  teeth  amidships,  and  caved  in  the 
rear  elevations,  allowing  a  small-sized  nugget  to  fall  out, 
leaving  two  exceedingly  sharp  edges  behind.  After  these 
had  made  several  unique  scroll-saw  designs  upon  the 
inside  of  my  cheeks,  I  dropped  into  a  drug-store  and 
invested  in  a  piece  of  spruce  gum.  After  chewing  this 
awhile,  I  inserted  the  gob  in  the  new  cavity,  with  an 
exalted  idea  of  my  own  cunning.  But  it  absolutely 
refused  to  harden  worth  a  cent,  and,  after  I  had  allowed 
it  to  play  *  peek-a-boo'  with  my  tongue  for  about  an  hour 
or  so,  I  sought  a  dentist,  who  removed  the  gum,  sawed 
off  the  serrated  edges,  and  afforded  me  temporary  relief. 
The  next  day  I  had  the  discrepancy  carefully  examined 
by  the  man  who  originally  filled  the  molars.  He  first 
surrounded  it  with  a  rubber  blanket,  which  he  appropri 
ately  called  a  *  dam,'  and  then  prodded  the  cavity  in  his 

(43; 


44  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

search  for  the  nerve.  Well,  he  found  it;  and  it  is  a  sin 
gular  coincidence  that  I  found  it  at  the  same  time.  I 
never  knew  before  that  the  nerve  of  a  man's  tooth  had 
any  connection  with  his  shoes,  but  I  found  that  such  was 
the  case.  After  he  found  it,  he  covered  it  up  with  a  little 
*  rough  on  nerves,'  and  then  told  me,  after  he  had  jammed 
it  down  securely,  to  return  when  the  nerve  was  dead.  I 
will  do  so;  but  I  imagine  from  present  sensations  that 

the  nerve  is  still  in  the  heart  of  the  city." 

*  * 

* 

"  I  was  chatting  with  a  manager  of  '  the  good  old  days,' 
the  other  afternoon,"  said  the  Actor,  "and  during  the 
course  of  the  conversation  he  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  ran 
across  a  player  who  could  render  Hamlets  part  correctly, 
without  a  mistake.  When  I  told  him  that  I  thought 
Edwin  Booth  was  letter-perfect  in  the  role,  he  gave  me  a 
most  surprising  bit  of  information.  He  said  that  Forrest 
was  the  only  actor  who  ever  knew  the  lines  of  the  part 
perfectly,  and  he  once  asked  a  friend  how  many  mistakes 
he  thought  Booth  would  make  in  the  part.  The  friend 
said  he  did  not  think  he  would  make  any,  and  the  man 
ager  offered  to  wager  him  a  bottle  of  wine  on  every  five 
mistakes  as  long  as  he  cared  to  accept  the  wager.  The 
bet  was  made  accordingly,  and  soon  afterward  Booth's 
old  prompter  joined  the  party.  The  question  was  referred 
to  him  for  his  opinion,  and  he  ventured  a  guess  of  two 
hundred  mistakes.  This  the  manager's  friend  refused  to 
believe,  and  he  asked  the  old  prompter  if  he  had  ever 
'held  the  book '  on  Booth.  He  replied  that  he  had  done 
so  in  Hamlet  over  four  hundred  times.  That  night 
Booth  played  Hamlet,  and  the  manager's  friend  'held 
the  book '  on  him  himself— that  is,  he  did  so  until  he 
had  noted  one  hundred  and  thirty  mistakes,  when  he 
went  outside  to  'see  a  man.'  " 


CHARLIE  FROHMAN'S  ACTOR  FRIENDS.  45 

"  I  met  young  Charlie  Frohman  here  the  other  day,'' 
put  in  the  Manager.     "  He  is  just  back  from  a  protracted 
Western  trip,  and  tells  many  good  stories.     While  up  on 
the  line  of  the   Northern  Pacific  Road  he  met  a  party 
of  players  who  were  billed    heavily  as  the  '  New  York 
Lyceum  Company  No.  i.'     When  Charlie  asked  one  of 
them  if  his  brother  Gus  was  with  the  company,  the  man 
had    the  nerve  to  say  that  he  was.     The   troupe   was 
announced  to  play  'Fanchon,'  'Hazel  Kirke,'  'Hamlet,' 
*  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,'  and  other  little  skits  of  the  same 
caliber.     They  had  been  playing  along  the   road  from 
town  to  town,  to  $10  and  $15  houses,  spending  a  week 
in  each  small  place.     The  '  leading  man  '  left  every  Fri 
day  night  to  *  bill '  the  next  town,  and  the  *  property- 
man  '  played  his  part  Saturdays.     As  this  leading  man 
was  manager  of  the  company,  and  was  engaged  to  the 
leading  lady,  he  had  things  pretty  easy  as  far  as  salaries 
went.     One  day  they  struck  a  town  where  a  convention 
was  being  held,  and  at  night  they  had  a  packed  house, 
taking  in  more   money  than  they  had  seen  during  the 
entire  season.     After  paying  all  expenses,  the  manager 
found  himself  the  happy  possessor  of  $149  in  bills  and 
silver,  and  the  next  morning  he  called  his  people  together 
in  the  hotel,  and  said:    'Ladies  and   gentlemen,  it's  a 
cool,  bracing  morning — now  for  a  dash  to  the  depot.' 
They  dashed,  and  the  acute  manager  saved  eight  'bus- 
fares  thereby.     When  they  reached  the  station,  the  man 
ager  asked  for  the  ticket-agent,  and  when  that  worthy 
appeared  at  his  window,  in  response  to  the  summons,  the 
disciple  of  Thespis  shunted  his  $149  through  the  aper 
ture,  and  said:   '  Please  give  me  eight  tickets  at  theatrical 
rates.'     The  ticket-man    asked  where  to.     'East,'  said 
the   manager.     'Just  figure  up  how  far  east  that  will 
take   eight    of    us.'     The   bewildered   agent    scribbled 


46  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

away,  and  finally  remarked:  '  That  money  will  buy  eight 
tickets  from  here  to  Winona,  Minn.,  and  leave  $1.15 
over.'  The  manager  ordered  the  tickets,  then  turned  to 
his  people,  and  said:  'Ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  go  to 
Winona,  Minn.  I  will  have  just  enough  left  to  wire  my 
agent  that  I  do  not  need  him  any  longer.'  Then  the 
party  gathered  up  its  'props,'  appearing  glad  of  a 
chance  to  escape  from  the  fastnesses  of  the  Wild  West." 


* 
* 


"  Their  agent  ? "  added  the  Manager,  as  someone 
asked  what  became  of  that  individual.  "Well,  he  got 
left,  as  Charlie  said.  The  manager  himself  was  usually 
his  own  agent,  but  on  this  occasion  he  had  sent  the 
property-man  ahead,  that  there  might  be  one  less  hotel- 
bill  to  wrangle  over.  Frohman  met  the  unfortunate  man 
in  a  town  some  miles  farther  up  the  road.  It  was  about 
dusk,  and  it  was  bitter  cold.  Charlie  was  hurrying  along 
toward  the  hotel  from  the  telegraph  office,  wrapped  in  a 
heavy  ulster,  when  the  deserted  agent  halted  him,  and 
shook  his  hand  with  the  lofty  air  of  a  prince  of  the  blood. 
He  wore  a  long  linen  duster,  white  plug  hat,  and  his  low- 
cut  shoes  and  pants  were  wide  apart.  Frohman's  teeth 
chattered  with  the  extreme  cold  as  he  charitably  invited 
his  new-found  friend  into  the  hotel,  where  it  was  warm. 
But  his  invitation  was  refused  by  the  bankrupt  agent, 
who  urged  him  to  go  out  and  see  the  town.  The  poor 
fellow  had  not  seen  a  quarter  in  weeks.  '  Fine,  bracing 
weather  for  this  time  of  the  year;  eh,  Charlie  ? '  he  said, 
as  he  tried  hard  to  look  comfortable.  He  had  just 
learned  of  the  troupe's  cruel  desertion  of  him,  but  he  had 
no  regrets  to  express;  and  there  he  was,  all  alone  and 
apparently  happy  in  his  misery,  with  no  baggage  except 
ing  a  box  of  Den  Thompson's  lithographs  which  the 
manager  had  sneaked  out  of  some  theater  where  they 


NAT    GOODWIN    BLUFFS    SULLIVAN.  47 

played.  The  deserted  agent  declared  his  intention  of 
going  ahead  and  billing  Den  Thompson  with  the  *  Lyceum 
Company,'  and  charging  his  board-bills  back"  on  the 
company,  until  the  lithographs  gave  out.  Then  it  would 

be  time  to  think  of  doing  something  else." 

*  * 
* 

"Were  you  fellows  in  here  the  other  night  when  Nat 
Goodwin,  the  comedian,  threw  John  L.  Sullivan,  the 
pugilist,  out  into  the  street  ?"  queried  the  Agent.  "  No  ? 
Then  I'll  venture  to  tell  you  about  it,  as  it  was  very 
funny.  There  was  a  large  party  of  professionals  here, 
indulging  in  the  flowing  bowl,  and  John  L.  was  the 
center  of  an  admiring  group  who  were  feeling  of  his 
arms  and  pinching  his  biceps.  Nat,  who  is  one  ot  his 
particular  friends,  came  in  quietly,  took  off  his  coat  in 
the  little  room  there,  and  borrowed  an  immense  Colt 
revolver  from  the  Proprietor.  Sticking  the  '  gun '  in  his 
pistol-pocket,  he  walked  up  to  Sullivan,  tapped  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  said,  in  an  angry  tone:  *  See  here  ! 
you've  given  me  trouble  enough,  and  I  want  you  to  clear 
out  of  my  place.'  The  strangers  at  the  bar  pricked  up 
their  ears,  and  one  or  two  of  the  more  cautious  sneaked 
out  via  the  side  door.  '  Go  on,  now,'  continued  Nat; 
*  you're  a  big,  bean-eating  coward,  and  I've  had  enough 
of  you.  Go  on  !  '  The  big  slugger  had  'dropped'  to 
Nat's  little  game,  and  he  attempted  to  apologize;  but  the 
comedian  was  obdurate,  and  he  finally  took  Sullivan  by 
the  collar  and  pulled  him  toward  the  door,  while  the 
strangers  stared  in  wonder,  and  began  to  whisper,  '  Who 
is  he  ? '  Nat  kicked  the  slugger  and  pushed  him  at  the 
same  time.  He  fell  upon  the  floor,  scrambled  to  his  feet, 
and  rushed  into  the  street,  while  Nat  swaggered  back 
and  handed  the  gun  to  the  barkeeper.  Sullivan  slid 
around  to  the  side  door,  stuck  his  head  in,  and  said, 


48  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

meekly:  *  Please,  mister,  I'd  like  to  come  in  ;  I  won't 
raise  a  row.'  Nat  looked  at  him  a  moment,  appeared  to 
ponder,  and  then  replied:  'You  can  come  in  again  if 
you'll  buy  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  behave  yourself;  but  if 
you  make  any  further  disturbance,  I'll  knock  the  whole 
top  of  your  head  off.'  John  bought  the  bottle,  and  the 
strangers  sneaked  up  to  Nat  to  feel  of  his  arms  and  legs 

on  the  quiet." 

*  * 
* 

"  Many's  the  time  *  on  the  road '  that  I  would  have 
given  a  dollar  for  a  piece  of  pie  like  this,"  said  the 
Manager.  He  had  been  hitting  the  lunch-counter,  and 
as  he  separated  his  face  from  a  rim  of  pie,  he  continued: 
"  When  I  was  ahead  of  Colonel  Boozby's  '  Triple  Uncle 
Tom  Company,'  I  was  riding,  one  day,  on  a  train  between 
Burlington  and  Peoria,  when  the  conductor  happened  to 
inquire  the  name  of  my  company.  After  he  had  passed 
along,  a  'jay'  who  had  overheard  the  question  and 
answer,  turned  to  me  and  said:  'You  theayter  troupe 
people  must  have  darned  good  times  !'  Well,  I  had  been 
awakened  a  few  hours  before  by  a  '5.30  call,'  and  I  said 
*  Yes,'  with  a  very  large  smile.  One  night  during  the 
following  week  we  played  until  IIP.  M.,  caught  a  train 
at  2.12  A.  M.,  rode  until  5.43  A.  M.,  fretted  in  a  country 
station  for  two  long  hours,  and  then  caught  another  train 
and  rode  until  12.30  p.  M.  The  next  morning  we  were 
obliged  to  arise  at  six  o'clock,  after  playing  at  night,  and, 
to  keep  us  in  training,  we  had  a  'three  A.  M.  call,'  a  three- 
hour  wait,  and  a  late  arriving  hour  for  dessert.  And  still 
there  are  people  who  think  that  we  '  theayter  troupe 
people  have  a  darned  good  time.'  I  remained  with  that 
show  until  Colonel  Boozby  wanted  to  cast  me  for  one  of 
the  bloodhounds,  and  then  I  quit.  The  next  summer  I 
played  in  a  '  snap  '  stock  company  in  a  small  town.  The 


JOHN  RUSSELL'S  HUSTLING.  4f) 

'  jays '  continued  to  make  me  very  weary,  and  the  popu 
lace  of  twelve  hundred  souls  united  in  giving  me  a  cramp 
in  the  scarf-pin.  One  fine  evening  I  was  strolling  alongthe 
street  toward  the  theater,  and  I  overheard  one  of  a  knot 
of  Reubens  standing  on  a  corner  say:  '  These  play 
actors  will  have  a  goll  darned  nice  night  for  their  ting 
tung.'  Then  they  asked  in  that  town  if  we  'carried  our 
own  screens '  with  us,  and  told  us  that  we  *  acted  right 
well  up  on  the  stagings.'  I  was  captain  of  the  local  ball- 
team  during  that  summer,  and  one  night  I  was  cast  for 
Bob  Brierly,  in  the  'Ticket  of  Leave  Man.'  It  was  so 
frightfully  hot  that  I  didn't  use  any  make-up,  and  went 
on  with  a  smooth  face.  The  next  afternoon,  an  aged 
'  jay  '  came  up  to  me  on  the  ball-field,  and  said:  '  I  knew 
you  on  the  stage  boards  last  night  even  if  you  did  wear 
whiskers,  b'gosh.'  Fine  encouragement  for  a  man  with 
talent,  wasn't  it  ?  " 


*  • 
* 


"  I  ran  across  John  Russell  the  other  day,"  remarked 
the  Counsellor.  "  He,  you  know,  is  a  great  friend  of 
John  Stetson — used  to  work  for  him.  When  Russell  was 
in  New  York,  recently,  he  dropped  in  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Theater  to  see  the  'Mikado.'  The  house  was  packed. 
Between  the  acts  he  met  Stetson  outside,  and  said: 
'Nice  business,  isn't  it,  John  ?'  Stetson  confessed  that 
it  was,  in  his  opinion.  '  If  I  were  you,  I'd  drive  the  spec 
ulators  away  from  the  doors,  though,'  remarked  Russell. 
'  How  in  thunder  can  I  do  that  ? '  queried  Stetson,  testily, 
flaring  up  at  once.  'I  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  though,' 
he  added.  '  They've  got  their  licenses,  but  if  this  court 
decision  is  made  in  their  favor,  I'll  raise  the  price  of  seats 
to  $2.  D — n  it,  I'll  protect  the  public  !  '  '  But,'  remon 
strated  Russell,  '  they'll  raise  to  $2.50.'  '  Then  /'//  make 
it  $2.50,'  said  Stetson.  '  There's  no  limit  to  my  game.' 


50  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

While  they  were  standing  there,  up  came  four  of  Stetson's 
friends  whom  he  had  invited  to  see  the  show.  He  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  invitation,  and  there  was  not  a  box 
or  a  seat  left ;  so  he  was  obliged  to  apply  to  the  hated 
speculators.  These  gentry  are  all  down  on  him  ; 
and  when  he  took  four  seats  and  asked  the  price,  the  man 
said:  '  Twelve  dollars,  please.'  'What's  that!'  yelled 
Stetson.  The  speculator  named  his  price  again,  and, 
after  gazing  at  him  from  head  to  foot  for  a  moment,  he 
said,  throwing  back  his  coat:  '  Here,  I've  got  three  or 

four  hundred  about  me — just  go  through  me  !  '  " 

*  * 
* 

"  Our  friend  George  Ryer  was  here  the  other  day," 
chirped  the  Reporter.  ''You  know  he  traveled  once 
with  Herrmann,  the  magician,  whom  he  can  imitate  to 
perfection  in  voice  and  manner.  He  used  to  guy  the 
wizard  to  his  face,  but  Herrmann  never 'tumbled.'  It 
was  a  part  of  George's  duty  to  provide  the  necessary 
material  for  all  of  Herrmann's  tricks.  For  one  trick  he 
had  to  procure  two  cheap  silk  hats,  one  of  which  he  gave 
to  the  magician  and  the  other  to  a  confederate  whom  he 
planted  in  a  certain  seat  near  the  stage.  Herrmann  knew 
this  seat,  and  always  approached  its  occupant  when  ready 
for  the  trick.  One  night,  this  seat  was  sold  by  mistake, 
and  George  put  the  confederate  as  near  as  possible  to  it, 
though  he  did  not  care  much  whether  Herrmann  found 
him  or  not.  Well,  when  the  wizard  came  forward 
to  borrow  a  silk  hat,  he  of  course  made  for  the  regular 
seat,  and  the  gentleman  who  had  bought  it,  and  who  occu 
pied  it,  proffered  his  own  expensive  silk  tile.  Herrmann 
supposed  it  was  the  confederate's  hat,  so  on  his  way  to 
the  stage  he  fell  on  it,  crushing  it,  and  then  kicked 
a  hole  in  it  and  playfully  tore  off  the  brim.  This  ruin 
done,  he  jammed  the  remains  intoa  mortar  and  shot  them 


(iKORGK    RYKR    FOOLS    PROFESSOR    HERRMANN.  51 

skyward.  Then  a  brand-new  silk  hat  fell  to  the  stage,  and 
Herrmann  picked  it  up,  brushed  it  gracefully  with  his 
silk  handkerchief,  and  politely  returned  it  to  the  man, 
who  tried  to  put  it  on.  It  was  a  cheap  hat,  about 
two  sizes  too  small  for  the  owner  of  the  destroyed 
tile  ;  and  when  the  wizard  saw  his  mistake,  he  gnashed  his 
teeth  and  rushed  from  the  stage.  The  next  night,  the 
confederate  who  disappears  in  a  cabinet  and  appears 
mysteriously  in  the  parquette  circle  was  arrested  by 
a  green  policeman,  who  caught  him  rushing  through  the 
alley  from  the  stage,  thinking  he  was  a  thief ;  and  Herr 
mann  waited  in  vain  for  the  denouement  of  his  trick. 
He  was  not  in  good  humor  that  week,  as  you  can 

imagine.     Everything  turned  out  all  right,  however." 

*  * 
* 

"Speaking  of  turning  out,"  said  the  Proprietor, 
"  reminds  me  that  it  is  time  to  turn  out  the  gas  ;  " 
which  he  proceeded  to  do,  while  the  Purveyor  turned  out 
the  Turnovers. 


V. 


To  A  HIGHER  PLANE — That  is  Where  the  Reporter  Desires  the  Club 
to  Climb— The  Men  Who  Climb  the  Telegraph  Poles— New 
Names  for  Chorus  People — Fate  of  the  Actor's  Washing — John 
McCullough's  Toothache—  Billy  Crane's  D£but— Frank  Daniels' 
Tramp— "The  Nickel-Shooter" — Frank  McKee's  Bogus  War 
riors. 

The  regular  weekly  meeting  of  the  Turnover  Club 
was  held  last  evening,  in  the  Usual  Resort.  By  arriving 
at  an  early  hour  on  the  ground,  the  Reporter  secured  the 
floor;  and  when  the  gavel  fell,  he  was  in  full  possession. 
The  solemn,  six-beer  look  upon  his  face  indicated  that  he 
had  something  of  grave  import  to  communicate.  After 
clearing  his  throat  in  the  manner  peculiar  to  the  Club 
members,  he  said  he  had  a  very  momentous  proposition 
to  make.  Of  course  they  all  liked  to  hear  fairy-tales 
and  aged  "  walnuts  "  about  theater  folk,  and  these  usually 
formed  the  chief  topic  of  their  gatherings;  but  he 
thought  it  was  high  time  for  them  to  ascend  to  a  higher 
plane,  and  discuss  the  all-absorbing  questions  of  the 
hour.  To  test  the  sense  of  the  meeting,  he  would  move 
that  at  the  next  session  they  take  up,  for  general  debate, 
the  topic:  "When  the  telegraph  wires  are  all  put  under 
ground,  what  will  become  of  the  men  with  spurs  on  their 
boots,  who  now  earn  their  livelihood  by  climbing  the  tel 
egraph  poles  ?  "  This,  the  Reporter  maintained,  was  a 
question  touching  the  welfare  of  many  happy  homes; 
then  he  paused  for  a  reply.  The  Manager  said  that  they 
were  all  with  him  on  the  "  higher  plane"  idea,  but  he 
thought  the  stride  proposed  was  too  great  for  a  starter. 

(53) 


54  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

If  they  decided  to  become  literary  guys,  they  should  get 
there  by  degrees.  They  were  not  by  any  means  a  Brown 
ing  Club,  and  were  weak  on  many  points  in  literature 
and  history.  Indeed,  the  Agent  had  gone  so  far  at 
the  previous  meeting  as  to  declare  that  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet "  had  been  written  by  Pedro  Gonzales,  or  some 
other  man  with  such  a  cigar-box  name.  If  they  decided 
to  start  up  after  this  higher  plane,  they  should  start  in 
modestly,  with  a  curriculum  not  so  far  above  their  heads. 
They  might  begin  by  discussing  the  vital  "  lithograph 
question,"  or  "  how  an  agent  can  buy  wine  on  $30 
per  week,"  or  some  such  elementary  topic,  which  was  a 
part  and  parcel  of  their  every-day  lives.  "  Let  the  pole- 
climbers  dig  in  their  spurs,"  he  said,  "  and  shift  for  them 
selves;"  and  with  one  great,  unanimous  accord,  the  Club 
sat  down  upon  the  Reporter  and  his  elevating  proposition. 


* 
* 


"  Heard  of  John  Russell's,  new  scheme  yet  ?"  queried 
the  Agent,  as  he  reached  over  and  filched  an  olive  when 
the  Purveyor's  back  was  turned.  "  He  has  discovered  a 
new  and  attractive  method  of  naming  chorus  people  on 
the  programmes,  and  he  says  it  will  be  adopted  by  all  of 
the  comic  opera  companies  on  the  road  next  season. 
His  idea  is  to  name  the  chorus-girls  after  towns,  and  the 
chorus-men  after  well-known  points  of  interest.  Here 
is  one  of  his  schedules  for  a  '  Mikado '  chorus;"  and  the 
Agent  carefully  unfolded  a  piece  of  paper  and  read 
as  follows:  "  'Japanese  maidens — Lulu  Boston,  Millie 
Poughkeepsie,  Marie  Marshalltown,  Sadie  Oskaloosa, 
Tillie  Toledo,  Katie  Keokuk,  Pauline  Pullman,  Madge 
Milwaukee,  Ann  Arbor,  Minnie  Apolis,  and  Sarah  Cuse; 
Japanese  voters — William  Niagara,  Charles  Obelisk, 
Henry  Bartholdi,  Brooklyn  Brydge,  J.  Bunker  Hill, 
Yellow  S.  Park,  Y.  O.  Semite,  Horse  S.  Bend,  Cliff 


FATE    OF    THE    ACTOR'S    WASHING.  55 

House,  and  Hell  Gate.' "  "  You  see,"  said  the  Agent,  "  the 
general  public  never  cares  to  read  the  names  of  the 
chorus  people  on  their  programmes;  but  if  John's  plan 
is  adopted,  every  comic  opera  cast  will  be  a  complete 
geography  lesson  in  itself.  The  scheme  could  be  worked 
like  patent-inside  newspapers,  and,  as  John  says  himself, 
it's  '  a  corker/  Just  think  of  its  possibilities  !  " 

* 
"  If  I  had  my  way,"  remarked  the  Actor,  "  I'd  have  the 

death-watch  stationed  outside  the  cell  occupied  by  that 
German  dumb-waiter  of  y/ours,"  addressing  the  Pro 
prietor.  The  Actor  was  evidently  in  a  very  bad  humor. 
There  were  deep,  dark  lines  of  care  under  his  eyes  and 
upon  the  visible  edges  of  his  collars  and  cuffs.  When 
questioned  as  to  the  particular  nature  of  the  Teutonic 
Ganymede's  alleged  crime,  he  said:  "Why,  the  chump 
has  no  more  sense  than  a  three-sheet  poster  in  two  colors. 
I  came  in  here  yesterday  afternoon  with  my  entire  week's 
washing,  for  which  I  had  just  paid  an  almond-eyed 
'  washee  man  '  thirty-four  cents.  At  the  time,  I  was  in  a 
joyous  mood,  and  when  a  friend  invited  me  up  to  drink, 
it  was  in  this  same  gay  spirit  that  I  handed  my  immacu 
late  linen  to  that  libel  on  Germany,  and  told  him  to  put 
the  bundle  'on  the  ice'  until  I  called  for  it.  When  I 
called  for  it,  last  night,  the  blue-ribbon  idiot  fished  the 
bundle  out  of  the  ice-box,  where  a  lot  of  lobsters  and 
soft-shelled  crabs  had  been  having  fun  with  it.  The 
collars  and  cuffs  looked  exceedingly  dejected.  You 
should  teach  your  foreign  hirelings  the  English  language 
before  you  spring  them  upon  an  unsuspecting  public. 
Now,"  addressing  the  Purveyor,  "  if  I  asked  you  to  put 
a  round  of  drinks  'on  the  ice '  for  me,  you'd  know  what 
I  meant,  wouldn't  you?"  The  Purveyor  said  he  would, 
but  he  would  not  do  it,  all  the  same.  "  That's  all  right," 


56  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

said  the  Actor;  "  but  you'd  not  put  the  drinks  where  a 
refrigerator  full  of  soft-shell  crabs  and  lobsters  could 
get  full  on  'em.  Here  I  am  with  no  clean  collar  and 
with  soiled  cuffs.  Why  don't  I  reverse  the  cuffs  ?  I  have 
— and  you  knew  it,  too.  There  was  no  need  of  your 
calling  attention  to  the  fact,  either.  Wrote  a  topical 
verse  on  one  of  them  last  night  for  young  George  Boni 
face,  the  comic  opera  comedian.  He  wanted  a  verse  on 
the  fat  stock  show  for  '  Read  the  Answer  in  the  Stars,' 
and  I  wrote  him  a  corker  about  reading  the  answer  in 
the  steers.  It  so  pleased  the  stockmen,  they  sent  word 
to  George  that  if  he  would  come  down  they  would  kill 
a  fatted  calf  for  him  ;  but  he  refused,  politely.  He  has 
been  in  the  comic  opera  business  too  long  not  to  know 
of  what  material  the  average  fatted  calf  is  composed. 
You  can't  throw  any  sawdust  in  his  eyes  !  " 


*  * 
* 


"  This  tooth  of  mine  is  bothering  me  again,"  com 
plained  the  Manager.  "  Is  there  anything  worse  than  a 
toothache?  I  remember  once  that  poor  John  McCul- 
lough,  the  tragedian,  had  a  raging  toothache  during  a 
performance  of  *  Virginius  '  here.  The  tooth  started  in 
to  howl  vigorously  while  he  was  engaged  in  'making  up' 
for  the  part,  and  he  had  no  time  to  seek  a  dentist. 
During  the  entire  first  act  he  was  in  great  agony,  and  he 
ordered  his  stage  manager  to  send  out  for  a  dentist 
at  any  cost.  But  dentists  are  hard  to  find  at  that  hour, 
and  McCullough's  tooth  was  playing  the  'Star-Spangled 
Banner,'  with  variations.  In  the  market-place  scene, 
he  had  a  chance  to  relieve  himself  somewhat;  and 
the  way  he  did  denounce  Appiits  Claudius  was  a  caution. 
Ned  Collier  played  the  part.  After  that  act,  the  dentist 
came  into  the  dressing-room  and  examined  the  refractory 
molar.  Like  all  of  his  profession,  he  wanted  to  save  and 


BILLY  CRANE'S  DEBUT.  57 

fill  it  ;  but  McCullough  cried,  '  Out  with  it  !  '  It  was 
a  pretty  sturdy  tooth,  and  the  tragedian  hung  to  the 
straps  of  his  wardrobe  trunk  while  the  dentist  yanked. 
It  finally  came,  and  the  operation  left  poor  John  in 
a  somewhat  wilted  condition.  He  didn't  have  to  '  make 
up '  much  for  grief  in  the  last  act." 

#  * 
* 

"  George  Primrose,  the  minstrel  man,  was  saying,  the 
other  day,"  put  in  the  Night  Clerk,  "that  he  used  to  live 
in  London,  Canada,  and  I  heard  him  tell  Billy  Crane,  the 
comedian,  that  he  used  to  wait  on  him  at  the  Tecumseh 
House  there  very  often.  That  was  long  before  Crane 
was  known  to  fame — while  he  was  stealing  through  the 
provinces  over  the  border  with  the  Holman  Opera  Com 
pany.  It  was  a  sort  of  a  family  company,  and  one  of  the 
sons  was  idolized  by  the  rest  as  its  comedian.  Crane 
used  to  sit  in  the  wings  every  night  and  watch  him 
play — worshiping  him  from  a  distance.  Finally,  this 
flower  of  the  family  died,  and  there  was  great  sorrow  in 
the  camp  in  consequence.  No  one  could  be  found 
to  play  his  comedy  parts,  and  at  last  Crane  volunteered 
to  try  them.  Of  course  he  was  laughed  at;  but  after  a 
time  they  consented  to  have  him  take  a  flyer  at  the  roles. 
They  told  him  he  could  take  the  parts  and  study  them, 
but  he  said  he  already  knew  them,  through  witnessing  his 
predecessor's  performances.  Well,  he  made  a  big  hit. 
He  tells  me  that  while  with  that  company  he  played 
Dcvilshoof)  Uncle  Tom,  Don  Caesar  y  and  the  clown  in  a 
pantomime,  all  in  one  evening.  For  all  of  this  he  re 
ceived  thanks,  for  they  gave  him  nothing  else  excepting 
his  board.  One  happy  day,  Mrs.  Holman  gave  him  a  ten- 
dollar  bill,  whereupon  he  rushed  to  the  express  office  and 
sent  it  home,  fearing  to  carry  that  much  money  about 
him.  Now  he  lights  cigars  with  twenties,  they  tell  me." 


58  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  Frank  Daniels,  the  comedian,  is  just  back  from  San 
Francisco,"  said  the  Counsellor;  "  and  he  told  me  that 
while  there  he  ran  across  a  smart  tramp,  named  Rivers, 
who  used  to  be  in  '  de  perfesh,'  and  who  is  now  out  on 
the  Coast  in  that  uncertain  condition  popularly  known  as 
'  broke.'  Rivers  is  an  eccentric  individual,  who  goes 
about  with  play-bills  on  his  arm  and  sprigs  of  celery  stuck 
in  his  coat-pocket.  One  night  he  raised  a  row  in  thepar- 
quette  of  a  variety  theater,  and  a  burly  policeman  started 
to  drag  him  out.  '  Hold  on  !  '  he  cried,  '  I  want  to  say 
something;'  but  the  policeman  was  obdurate.  Finally, 
however,  the  officer  consented  to  allow  Rivers  to 
have  his  say.  His  old  professional  training  came  back 
to  him,  and  pointing  his  finger  at  the  leader  of  the 
orchestra,  he  yelled:  '  Hey,  cull,  give  me  a  "  hurry  "'in 
G.'  The  leader  obligingly  gave  the  chord,  and  the 

policeman  gracefully  hustled  Rivers  out  in  that  key." 

*  * 
* 

"  Ever  hear  of  a  '  nickel-shooter'  ?  "queried  the  Agent. 
"  It's  a  new  one  on  me,  and  I  only  heard  of  it  the  other 
night.  These  tramps  who  hang  around  the  West  Side 
cheap  lodging-houses  occasionally  run  across  a  nickel, 
which  they  invariably  invest  in  whisky.  In  the  '  barrel 
houses,'  which  they  patronize,  they  get  a  large  glass  of 
so-called  '  liquor  '  for  five  cents,  and  if  they  don't  drink 
it  all,  the  residue  is  poured  back  into  the  barrel.  Well, 
this  mode  of  procedure  broke  the  hearts  of  the  tramps, 
and  they  finally  devised  the  '  nickel-shooter  '  idea.  A 
man  would  swallow  all  he  could  of  his  drink,  and  then 
hold  the  remainder  in  his  mouth.  When  he  got  outside, 
he  would  take  his  partner  aside  and  inject  the  dose 
of  fire-water  down  his  gullet  as  a  mother  bird  would  feed 
her  young.  That's  what  is  called  a  'nickel  shooter/  and 
they  tell  me  the  operation  can  be  witnessed  almost  every 


FRANK  MCKEE'S  BOGUS  WARRIORS.  59 

night  near  these  West  Madison  street  barrel-houses.     It's 

too  far  along  for  us,  though." 

*  * 
* 

"  When  Frank  McKee  was  billing  Charlie  Hoyt's  '  Tin 
Soldier '  company  in  St.  Louis,  last  week,"  said  the 
Agent,  "  he  tried  to  work  up  an  advertising  dodge  anent 
the  two  bogus  soldiers  in  the  play;  so  he  spent  two  days  in 
looking  after  one-legged  tramps.  He  could  not  find  one 
in  the  town  ;  so  he  engaged  two  of  the  most  disreputable 
looking  soldiers  of  fortune  he  could  find,  took  them 
to  the  theater,  and  assisted  nature  a  very  little  by  redden 
ing  their  noses,  blackening  their  eyes,  and  making  their 
personal  appearance  twice  as  tough.  Then  he  rigged 
one  leg  of  each  on  stumps,  dressed  them  in  soldier's 
clothes,  and  armed  each  with  an  old  musket.  As  a  final 
precaution,  he  gave  each  one  of  them  three  dollars,  and 
directed  them  to  start  out  and  buy  a  glass  of  beer 
in  every  saloon  in  St.  Louis.  This  portion  of  their 
contract  they  filled  —  also  themselves.  At  night, 
McKee  lost  them,  and  feared  that  they  might  have 
got  drunk  and  pawned  their  regimentals  ;  but  a  detective 
found  them  slumbering  in  a  disreputable  saloon,  and  res 
cued  the  trappings  of  war.  McKee  gave  up  that  scheme, 
and  the  next  day  he  asked  permission  of  the  depot- 
master  to  put  a  lithograph  on  the  face  of  his  clock.  He 
was  refused  the  privilege.  Then  he  resorted  to  Ben 
Stern's  idea  of  advertising  for  two  thousand  cats  and 
setting  them  adrift  with  advertisements  of  his  show  tied 
around  their  necks.  He  is  a  hustler." 

* 

Just  here  the  Agent  was  interrupted  by  a  terrible  fit  of 
coughing.  The  Purveyor  said  he  had  been  trying  to 
cure  him  of  eating  all  of  the  cheese  on  the  lunch-counter 
by  substituting  neatly  cut  bits  of  soap  for  the  genuine 


GO  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

article.  He  thought  he  had  succeeded,  as  the  Agent  was 
frothing  at  the  mouth.  The  Agent  made  a  wild  dash  for 
the  Purveyor,  but  the  Proprietor  separated  them,  and 
declared  a  hasty  adjournment. 


VI. 


THE  PURVEYOR  IN  HARD  LUCK — He  is  visited  by  Burglars  and  a 
Month  With  but  Four  Weeks  in  it — Only  Four  Salaries— The 
New  England  Chowder  Club — The  Agent  on  St.  Peter  and  St. 
Paul — John  Doris  in  Mississippi — "Jumbo"  Davis  and  His 
"  Zulu  " — A  Comedian's  Misfortune — Harry  Meredith's  Cure  for 
Insomnia — Haverly's  Lithographs — Tom  Keene  as  a  Soldier — 
Hard-Boiled  Eggs  for  Easter. 

When  the  Turnover  Club  members  turned  dp  in  the 
Usual  Resort  last  evening,  the  Purveyor  was  in  no  cheer 
ful  mood.  His  name  was  wolf,  and  it  was  his  right  to 
howl.  As  he  erased  with  his  towel  the  foot-prints  of 
three  beers  from  the  mahogany  before  him,  he  glowered 
savagely  upon  the  Agent,  who  cowered  in  terror  behind 
the  cracker-and-cheese  receptacle.  He  declared  that  he 
was  in  extremely  hard  luck.  He  always  did  hate  Febru 
ary,  he  said,  because  his  salary  was  $25  per  week,  and 
there  were  but  four  weeks  in  the  month.  Besides,  every 
thing  had  gone  wrong  with  him — burglars  had  entered 
his  lodgings,  chloroformed  him,  and  then  robbed  him. 
When  he  awoke  from  his  stupor  and  found  what  had 
happened,  he  discovered  his  pants  out  in  the  hall,  his 
coat  in  the  front  yard,  and  his  vest  up  on  the  roof. 
Everything  had  been  taken — even  his  photograph — and 
all  the  midnight  marauders  had  left  him  was  a  bottle  of 
cough-syrup,  a  box  of  corn-plasters,  and  an  odor  of 
chloroform.  It  was  indeed  a  sad  tale,  and  as  the  Pur 
veyor  related  it,  he  wept  with  one  eye,  and  kept  the  other 
securely  fastened  upon  the  crackers  and  cheese  in  the 
Agent's  vicinity. 

(61) 


62  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"I  was  told,  the  other  day,"  put  in  the  Actor,  " about 
a  chowder  club  which  used  to  meet  down  in  a  little  Mas 
sachusetts  town.  It  was  composed  of  a  lot  of  old-timers, 
who  gathered  every  year  at  a  clam-bake,  and  indulged  in 
a  glorious  time.  One  day,  one  of  the  oldest  members  of 
the  club  up  and  died.  His  widow  made  all  of  the  fu 
neral  arrangements  herself,  and  she  fixed  the  ceremonies 
for  the  day  of  the  annual  clam-bake.  Of  course,  this 
would  never  do,  and  the  club  appointed  a  committee  of 
one  old  tough  to  wait  upon  the  widow.  He  did  so  at 
the  earliest  possible  moment,  and  he  told  her  that  'the 
boys '  desired  very  much  to  attend  the  funeral  of  their 
dear  friend,  but  that  they  had  ordered  their  clams  for 
that  day,  and  were  afraid  they  might  spoil.  He  asked, 
on  behalf  of  the  club,  that  the  obsequies  be  postponed 
at  least  one  day.  But  the  sorrowing  widow  declared 
such  a  thing  impossible,  as  all  of  the  relations  had  been 
invited.  She  feared,  too,  that  the  remains  might  spoil  if 
kept  longer.  'Where  are  they ?'  asked  'the  committee,' 
as  he  shifted  his  quid.  'In  the  parlor,'  replied  the 
widow;  and  'the  committee  '  went  in  and  inspected  them 
carefully.  As  he  sadly  turned  away,  he  looked  at  the 
widow  and  said,  in  a  reassuring  tone  :  *  Sweet  as  a  nut; 

keep  for  a  week !  '     And  the  clams  were  saved." 

*  * 
* 

"  Hear  that  one  on  our  old  friends  St.  Peter  and  St. 
Paul?"  queried  the  Agent.  "No?  Well,  it's  a  good 
one.  It  is  related  of  them  that  they  were  shaking  dice 
upon  a  certain  occasion,  and  that  St.  Peter  shook  five 
sixes  in  one  flop  out  of  the  box.  Then  St.  Paul  rattled 
the  'boot-leg,'  and  spilled  out  five  sevens.  This  was  too 
much  for  St.  Peter.  Disgust  curled  his  upper  lip,  and  he 
said,  scornfully  :  *  Hold  on,  there,  Paul — no  miracles 
between  friends.'  At  this  interesting  point,"  continued 


JOHN    DORIS    IN    MISSISSIPPI.  63 

the  Agent,  **  the  festivities  were  interrupted  by  a  loud 
rapping  at  the  pearly  gates,  and  St.  Peter  quit  the  game 
to  go  and  see  who  was  there.  It  was  a  Chicago  man 
who  was  seeking  admission,  and  St.  Peter  accorded  him 
a  discouraging  bluff  by  slamming  the  gates  in  his  face, 
without  saying  a  word,  just  as  soon  as  he  learned  where 
the  applicant  hailed  from.  'That's  all  right! '  shouted  the 
Chicago  man.  *  I'll  get  dead  even  with  you!'  And  he 
went  away  over  in  a  further  corner  of  the  yard,  clapped 
his  knees  vigorously  with  both  hands,  and  loudly  crowed 
three  times.  St.  Peter  opened  the  gate  on  a  crack  in  a 
moment,  beckoned  cautiously  to  the  Chicago  rooster, 
and  when  he  came  up,  St.  Peter  said  :  '  That'll  be  all 
right,  partner;  let  by-gones  be  by-gones.'  And  the 
visitor  from  the  champion  summer  resort  bowed  him 
self  in." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  ran  across  John  Doris,  the  circus  man,  the  other 
day,"  remarked  the  Manager.  "  He  told  me  he  had  just 
returned  from  a  trip  through  Mississippi  with  his  show; 
and  he  said  he  hoped  never  to  go  down  there  again. 
Saw  a  man  shot  or  cut  nearly  every  day,  he  declared. 
John's  brother,  who  is  a  ministerial-looking  chap,  did  the 
heavy  oratory  for  the  side-show,  and  John  told  me  of  a 
very  funny  experience  he  had  down  there.  It  was  the 
custom  to  help  out  the  side-show  by  giving  some  free 
exhibition  outside  of  the  canvas,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
natives;  and  the  usual  attraction  was  '  Professor  Etherio, 
the  flying  man,'  who  did  a  rope-walking  act.  This  treat 
was  announced  during  the  progress  of  the  usual  street 
parade,  and  usually  a  large  crowd  visited  the  vicinity  of 
the  tent.  After  the  '  Professor '  had  done  his  flying, 
Doris'  eloquent  and  clerical-looking  brother  took  the 
assemblage  in  hand,  and  told  the  usual  fairy  tales  about 


64  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

the  'curiosities,  monstrosities,  and  freaks  of  nature'  to 
be  seen  on  the  inside.  He  always  wound  up  his  talk 
with  something  like  this:  *  Now  be  careful  that  you  pur 
chase  a  ticket  for  each  member  of  your  family;  and  be 
sure  that  you  read  these  tickets  carefully,  without  asking 
any  questions.  The  price  of  admission  is  but  a  dime — 
ten  cents — and  one  ticket  admits  you  to  all  parts  of  our 
great  world's  fair.  You  still  have  a  full  hour  before  the 
performance  begins  in  the  large  pavilion.'  One  day,  in 
a  certain  Mississippi  town,  the  regular  programme  had 
been  carried  out  about  this  far,  the  crowd  being  com 
posed  of  about  eight  hundred  people,  mostly  colored, 
when  a  tough-looking  citizen,  standing  a  few  feet  in  front 
of  the  lecturer,  started  suddenly,  whipped  out  a  wicked- 
looking  six-shooter,  and  opened  fire  on  another  party, 
quite  as  tough  looking,  who  was  standing  in  the  crowd, 
about  twenty  feet  away.  As  he  fired  his  first  shot,  he 

yelled:  *  You ,  I've  been  looking  for  you 

for  six  weeks,  and, you,  I've  found  you  at  last ! '     It 

appeared  afterward  that  they  were  brothers-in-law,  and 
had  vowed  vengeance  upon  one  another  at  sight,  on 
account  of  some  family  row.  The  man  who  was  made 
a  target,  pulled  his  ever-ready  gun,  and  proceeded  to 
return  his  assailant's  fire.  Some  half-dozen  shots  were 
fired  back  and  forth,  but  no  one  was  hurt.  It  scared  the 
crowd,  though,  and  in  about  two  minutes  Doris  saw  the 
interested  gathering  and  its  hard  cash  melt  away  like  the 
snow  in  April.  And  now  he  will  not  even  pass  through 

the  State." 

*  * 
* 

"  Speaking  of  circus  men,"  put  in  the  Manager, 
"reminds  me  that  I  met  *  Jumbo'  Davis  here  the  other 
day.  He  is  the  man  who  purchased  *  Jumbo '  for  Bar- 
num  and  brought  him  to  this  country.  We  were  walking 


A  COMEDIAN'S  MISFORTUNE.  65 

along  Clark  street  together,  and  we  met  a  bright-looking 
colored  boy,  who  was  nattily  attired  in  a  plaid  suit.  He 
stopped  to  chat  with  Davis  a  few  minutes,  and  in  answer 
to  a  question  as  to  how  he  was  getting  along,  he  said:  '  I 
don'  tink  I'll  haf  to  eat  snow-balls  dis  winter,  sah  ! ' 
When  we  left  him,  Davis  turned  to  me  and  remarked: 
'  That  coon  is  a  great  character,  and  is  one  of  the  very 
best  "  Zulus  "  on  the  road.  He  was  born  in  Erie,  Penn., 
and  has  traveled  as  a  "  Zulu  "  with  circuses  for  many 
years.  You'd  never  know  him  if  you'd  see  him  in  his 
"  Zulu  "  rig.  He  has  a  heavy  ring  in  his  nose,  big  rings 
in  his  ears,  and  wears  a  woolly  wig.  Then  he  wears  only 
a  scant  breech-clout,  and  carries  a  spear.  Pretty  cool 
for  him  late  in  the  season,  but,  bless  you,  he  don't  care; 
and  he  can  talk  more  "  Zulu  "  than  you  ever  heard.  Sells 
his  photographs,  too,  and  makes  big  money.  The  only 
favor  he  asks  is  to  be  allowed  to  lay  off  when  the  show 
he  travels  with  is  in  Erie.  He  is  afraid  some  of  his  old 
playfellows  there  will  give  him  away.  It  is  a  safe  bet  to 
back  his  statement  that  he  will  not  be  obliged  to  eat 
snow-balls  next  winter,  for  he's  not  that  kind  of  an 
American  Zulu.' " 


*  * 
* 


"  Our  friend  Billy  Crane,  the  comedian,  experienced 
rather  an  unfortunate  week  before  he  reached  here,"  said 
the  Counsellor.  "  In  Wheeling,  he  left  a  valuable  silk 
umbrella  in  his  dressing-room  at  the  theater,  and  when 
he  went  to  recover  it,  early  the  next  morning,  he  was 
almost  told  that  he  was  a  liar,  and  had  not  left  it  there. 
The  next  day,  he  received  a  telegram  from  New  York 
announcing  the  untimely  demise  of  the  pretty  little 
Yorkshire  terrier  he  had  purchased  for  Mrs.  Crane.  The 
animal  was  run  over  by  a  hansom  cab,  on  Broadway.  It 
cost  Mr.  Crane  $50,  and  its  '  necessary  expenses '  have 


66  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

been  as  much  more,  so  there  was  a  loss  of  a  cool  hun 
dred.  Then,  in  Dayton,  he  was  sitting  in  his  dressing- 
room,  when  a  member  of  his  company  came  in  to  borrow 
his  mirror.  On  the  lower  edge  of  this  mirror  rested  the 
comedian's  beautiful  diamond  ring,  for  which  he  paid 
$475,  and  li  rolled  off  the  mirror-frame  in  the  hall-way. 
As  its  loss  was  not  discovered  until  after  the  per 
formance,  it  was  never  recovered.  There  was  a  net 
loss  of  about  $600  in  one  week;  but  this  loss  was  off 
set,  however,  by  the  prize  which  awaited  the  comedian 
here.  It  was  the  photograph  of  a  beautiful  society 
lady,  who  wants  to  go  on  the  stage,  accompanied  by  a 
note  stating  her  wish.  As  Mr.  Crane  does  love  to  put 
beautiful  society  ladies  on  the  stage,  he  is  happy  — 
though  he  is  most  always  happy  when  free  from  dys 
pepsia." 


* 
* 


"The  best  cure  for  dyspepsia  that  I  know  of,"  de 
clared  the  Night  Clerk,  "  is  plenty  of  exercise.  Long 
walks  are  sure  to  cure  a  man  of  it.  Actors  are  greatly 
troubled  with  indigestion,  because  of  their  late  hours 
and  late  suppers.  But  Harry  Meredith,  the  actor,  never 
suffers  from  dyspepsia.  Why  ?  Well,  because,  in  travel 
ing  between  small  towns,  he  often  walks,  thereby  getting 
plenty  of  exercise,  and  gladdening  the  heart  of  a  man 
ager  by  saving  one  railroad  fare.  I  remember  that  when 
he  was  starring  in  'Ranch  10  '  he  scared  his  manager, 
Slater  Smith,  nearly  to  death  with  one  of  his  freaks. 
Slater  had  been  up  very  late  one  night,  celebrating  that 
most  unusual  thing  in  dramatic  circles,  a  good  house  in 
a  'one-night  stand,'  and  he  wrent  to  bed  exceedingly 
tired.  About  one  A.  M.,  he  was  awakened  by  a  rustling 
sound  in  his  room,  and  raising  himself  upon  one  elbow 
in  bed,  he  glanced  toward  the  door.  There  he  saw  on 


HAVERLY'S  LITHOGRAPHS.  67 

the  floor  a  writhing,  snake-like  object  of  white,  and  with 
out  further  ado,  he  sunk  back  on  his  pillow  and  covered 
his  head  with  the  bed-clothing,  quaking  with  fear  the 
while,  and  wondering  if  '  they '  were  in  his  possession. 
The  next  morning  he  arose,  after  a  series  of  fitful  slum 
bers,  and,  with  an  effort,  glanced  toward  the  door  again. 
There  he  saw  upon  the  floor  the  long,  white  margin  of  a 
newspaper  page.  It  appeared  that  Meredith  had  de 
cided,  at  a  late  hour  the  night  before,  to  walk  on  to  the 
next  'stand'  (a  distance  of  fifteen  miles),  under  the 
beautiful,  moon-lit  sky,  and  being  utterly  unable  to 
arouse  his  manager,  he  had  written  his  intentions  upon 
the  strip  of  paper  mentionedpand  by  degrees  slipped  it 
under  his  door.  When  the  company  reached  the  next 
town,  they  found  Meredith  seated  upon  the  hotel  piazza, 
calmly  enjoying  his  morning  cigar,  and  greatly  refreshed 
by  his  nocturnal  jaunt.  That's  the  way  to  stave  off  dys 
pepsia.  Other  actors  are  obliged  to  walk,  anyway;  but 
then,  they  don't  have  enough  to  eat  to  receive  the  dys 
pepsia." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  have  noticed  something  during  the  past  week  that 
has  pained  me  exceedingly,"  said  the  Reporter.  "I 
allude  to  the  pictures  of  Colonel  Haverly  which  have 
been  adorning  our  windows  and  dead-walls.  In  the 
olden  times,  these  works  of  art  were  brighter  and  more 
cheery;  now,  they  appear  dull  and  colorless  by  contrast. 
Why,  I  remember  the  day  when,  in  these  counterfeit 
presentments  of  the  king  of  minstrelsy,  Colonel  Haverly 
wore  a  blue  coat,  a  red  vest,  and  a  purple  necktie.  More 
over,  he  was  represented  pictorially  as  possessing  green 
eyes,  pink  cheeks,  orange  hair,  and  an  ecru  mustache — 
seven  colors  in  all,  I  believe,  besides  a  tint.  Has  there 
been  a  recent  rise  in  colored  inks,  or  are  the  present  ones 


08  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

the  old  lithographs  with  the  colors  faded  out?    Alas, 
poor  Haverly! " 


* 
* 


"  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  both  Tom  Keene,  the  tra 
gedian,  and  Harold  Fosberg  were  among  the  actors  who 
fought  for  the  Union?  "put  in  the  Professor.  "Well 
they  were,  and  Keene  often  used  to  spout  in  camp  for  his 
fellows  in  blue.  On  a  certain  occasion,  a  big  benefit  for 
the  Sanitary  Commission  was  given  in  the  Grand  Opera 
House,  in  New  York  City.  The  play  was  '  Hamlet,'  and 
the  star  was  the  noted  Count  Johannes.  The  immense 
house  was  packed  from  pit  to  dome  with  a  well-disposed 
audience;  but  after  the  Count  had  masticated  a  few  of 
the  melancholy  Dane's  speeches,  the  people  began  to 
guy  him  unmercifully.  Keene  was  cast  for  Laertes,  and 
when  he  made  his  first  entrance  the  audience  started  to 
have  fun  with  him.  This,  though,  was  too  much  for  Tom. 
Forgetting  all  about  '  Hamlet '  and  Laertes,  he  strode 
down  to  the  foot-lights,  shook  his  fist  savagely  at  the 
great  gathering,  and  yelled:  '  I  want  you  people  to  under 
stand  that  I  am  just  from  the  front,  by  God!  '  *  Hooray!  ' 
yelled  the  delighted  audience.  *  I've  fought  for  your 
country,  and  now  I'm  here  to  do  what  I  can  for  my  sick 
comrades!  '  '  Hooray! '  was  the  roar,  as  Hamlet  sneaked 
off  the  stage,  and  Tom  Keene  began  to  writhe  and  twist 
as  he  does  now  when  he  recites  the  *  Star-Spangled 
Banner.'  As  a  benediction,  he  yelled:  'I  don't  pro 
pose  to  be  insulted  in  doing  it,  either!'  'Hooray!' 
shrieked  the  thoroughly  captivated  audience;  and  the 
performance  of  '  Hamlet '  was  then  resumed  at  the  point 
where  the  thread  was  broken  off.  Every  time  Tom 
Keene  came  on  the  stage,  the  great  audience  yelled 
'Hooray!'  " 


HARD-BOILED    EGGS    FOR    EASTER.  69 

"Come,  come,  gents,"  interrupted  the  Purveyor  at  this 
point,  "  it's  time  to  close  up.  I'll  just  give  you  a  hard- 
boiled  egg  each,  in  honor  of  the  glad  Easter  morn  which 
has  just  arrived;"  and  the  members  stood  up  in  line, 
silently  partook  of  the  solidified  "  hen-fruit,"  employing 
condiments  to  the  taste,  after  which  they  adjourned  for 
one  week. 


VII. 


EMINENT  MEN  AT  THE  CLUB — Professors  Sullivan,  Dempsey, 
Mitchell,  and  others,  the  Guests  of  the  Evening — A  Pugilistic 
Atmosphere — John  T.  Raymond  and  the  Electric  Wires — Red 
Lobsters — The  Lost  Bass-Drum—Jim  Herne's  Trick— Billy 
Rice  Outwits  Charlie  Hoyt — A  New  York  Billboard  Sensation — 
James  O'Connor  Roche's  Tramp — The  Street-Car  Horse— A 
Large  Ball  Game. 

The  atmosphere  surrounding  the  meeting  of  the  Turn 
over  Club  in  the  Usual  Resort  last  evening  was  decid 
edly  pugilistic.  It  had  been  thoroughly  impregnated  by 
the  presence  in  the  city  during  the  week  of  the  most 
noted  sluggers  of  our  own  fair  land,  together  with 
fistic  contributions  from  England  and  Ireland.  The 
Club's  conversation  throughout  the  evening  was  densely 
interspersed  with  playful  badinage  and  sparkling  repartee, 
which  involved  such  unique  phrases  as  "  knocking  out," 
and  "hitting  on  the  kisser,"  and  "putting  to  sleep." 
Several  famous  prize-ring  contests  which  live  in  the  his 
tory  of  the  squared  circle  were  fought  over  again, 
through  the  eloquent  medium  of  the  mouth,  and  the 
Agent  arose  upon  his  ear,  and  threatened  to  "  put  a 
head  "  on  the  Purveyor  if  that  valued  member  did  not 
cease  the  disagreeable  practice  of  serving  him  with 
popped  beer.  The  king  of  the  prize-ring,  Mr.  John 
Longfellow  Sullivan,  of  Boston,  had  been  a  guest  of  the 
Club,  as  had  Mr.  John  Sautvoord  Dempsey,  of  New 
York,  and  Mr.  Charles  Tennyson  Mitchell,  of  London, 
England,  all  of  whom  had  indulged  in  promiscuous  oral 
glove-fights  "to  a  finish  "  beneath  the  admiring  ears  of 

(71) 


72  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

the  Agent's  friends.     Business  in  the  Usual  Resort  had 
picked  up  so    amazingly    under   the    patronage  of  this 
muscular  galaxy  that  the  Proprietor  had  been  obliged  to 
secure  for  the  Purveyor  an  "  understudy,"  whose  duty 
it  was  to  fill   bottles  and  wash  glasses  during  the  few 
interims.     Altogether  it  had  been  a  very  large  week,  and 
the  members   looked  it — especially  the  Agent.     "  I  see," 
he  remarked,  "  that  John  T.    Raymond,  the   comedian, 
has  been  playing  at    Hooley's    during   the   week.     Joe 
Whiting  is  in  the  company,  and  a  short  time  ago  they 
were  in  an  eastern  theater  where  electric  lights  are  used. 
At  a  matinee  performance  during  the  engagement,  some 
of  the  younger  members  of  the  company  attached   one 
of  the  electric  wires  to  a  chair  which  Joe  was  to  occupy 
in  the  next  act.    Before  he  came  onto  the  stage,  the  wire 
parted  by  accident,  but  as  Frank  Lane  made  his  entrance 
in  the  first  scene,  he  stooped  and  adjusted  it  again.     In 
a  few  moments,  Whiting   came   into   the    entrance   and 
looked  onto  the  stage.     Mr.  Raymond  had  been  let  into 
the  secret,  and  he  and  Lane  groaned   inwardly,  as  they 
thought  Joe  had  discovered  their  trick.    But  he  had  not, 
and  when  he  came  on  he  sank  into  the  chair  and  began 
to  talk.     Suddenly,  in  the  very  middle  of  a  sentence,  he 
bowed  himself  up,  with  a  frightful  whoop.  The  audience 
saw   the  point,    and    howled    with   merriment.     It  soon 
came    Raymond's   turn   to    sit   in   the   same  chair,  but 
before  he  did  so  he  was  careful  to  kick  the   wire  away. 
He  is  an  odd  genius,  that  Raymond.     I  wonder  if  he  is 
still  as  fond  of  matching  as  ever  ?     Guess  he  is,  for  it's  a 
habit  that's  hard  to  break.     I  remember  well  when  he 
matched  poor  Sam  Medill  for  a  column  advertisement  in 
the  Tribune — and  won  it,  too.     Raymond  asked  Sam  to 
write  the  advertisement  for  him,  and  he  agreed  to  do 
it.     In    the   middle  of  the  column  was  the  comedian's 


THE    LOST    BASS-DRUM.  73 

advertisement  proper,  and  the  rest  of  the  column 
was  filled  up  with:  'Match  him!'  and  'Match  him 
if  you  canl'^in  type  of  all  sizes.  It  created  a  great 
deal  of  talk  at  the  time,  and  the  uninitiated  wondered 

at  it." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  had  a  man  in  here  the  other  day,"  put  in  the  Pro 
prietor,  "  and  he  was  a  daisy.  He  asked  me  if  I  could  get 
him  a  nice  lobster,  and  I  had  him  served  with  a  beauty. 
To  demonstrate  to  him  that  I  had  really  done  well  by  him, 
I  proceeded  to  expatiate  upon  the  beauties  of  the  bird, 
when  he  interrupted  me  by  saying:  'You  can't  tell  me 
anything  about  shell-fish,  and  particularly  lobsters.  Why, 
I  was  born  and  raised  where  they  come  from  !  I  have 
often  gone  down  to  the  beach,  which  was  within  a  short 
distance  of  where  I  lived,  and  have  fairly  seen  the  water 
on  fire  with  lobsters!'"  The  Manager  was  obliged  to  take 
all  of  the  members  aside  and  explain  this  story  by  telling 
them  that  when  lobsters  were  in  their  native  brine  they 
were  green,  not  red,  and  the  water  could  not  very  well 
appear  to  be  on  fire  with  green  lobsters.  This  diagram 
plainly  showed  the  shot,  and  all  laughed  excepting  the 
Actor,  who  attempted  to  defend  the  man  who  had  called 
for  the  lobsters  by  saying  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
green  fire — he  had  seen  some  of  it  touched  off  once 
when  he  played  one  of  the  witches  in  the  tragedy  of 

"  Macbeth." 

*  * 
* 

"  Frank  Lane,  of  Raymond's  Company,  told  me  a  good 
one,  the  other  day,  on  our  friend  '  Jumbo'  Davis,"  said 
the  Agent.  "  The  incident  happened  to  him  once  when 
he  was  with  a  circus.  One  day  the  show  struck  a  small 
town,  and  Davis  hired  the  local  brass-band  to  lend  eclat  and 
noise  to  the  parade,  promising  the  musicians  two  dollars 


74  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

each  for  the  eclat,  and  each  a  free  ticket  'to  the  show  for 
the  noise. 

"  Well,  the  band  did  bravely,  apparently  caring  more  for 
the  free  ticket  than  the  two  dollars,  as  they  created  more 
noise  than  eclat.  However,  when  they  were  paid  off,  a 
number  of  them  went  to  the  village  store  and  spent  their 
money  for  eclat,  and  just  before  the  afternoon  perform 
ance  began  in  the  large  pavilion,  two  of  the  musicians 
turned  up  at  the  main  entrance.  Both  were  very  full. 
When  they  winked  knowingly  and  attempted  to-  walk  in, 
they  were  halted  by  Davis,  who  demanded  their  tickets. 
They  explained  that  they  belonged  to  the  local  brass- 
band.  'Jumbo'  said  he  knew  that,  but  he  had  given  the 
musicians  all  tickets.  At  this,  the  fuller  of  the  two 
men  said  he  had  lost  his  ticket.  *  Oh,  that's  all  nonsense 
— you  couldn't  lose  your  ticket,'  said  Davis,  then  thor 
oughly  indignant,  because  he  thought  they  had  given 
away  their  tickets.  The  spokesman  for  the  pair  straight 
ened  himself  up  and  replied,  with  an  effort,  '  The  h — 1  we 
couldn't  lose  our  tickets  !  I  lost  a  bass-drum  ! '  And 
Davis  passed  them  in." 


<  * 
* 


"  After  scaring  us  for  a  week  with  his  processions  of 
armed  men  upon  our  streets  in  these  troublous  times," 
remarked  the  Manager,  "  Jim  Herne  has  produced  his 
new  play,  *  The  Minute-Men,'  at  the  Grand.  Herne  is 
an  old-timer,  by  the  way.  He  used  to  travel  around  the 
country  as  a  manager  some  years  ago,  and  he  ran  some 
pretty  queer  shows.  I  remember  one  season  he  had  a 
lot  of  gorgeous  printing,  setting  forth  an  extensive  reper 
toire,  and  he  traveled  with  six  people.  They  did  not 
carry  a  stitch  of  scenery,  and  Herne's  plan  was  to  rely 
solely  on  his  showy  printing  to  fill  the  houses.  After  the 
money  was  all  in,  he  would  go  before  the  curtain  and  say: 


BILLY    RICE    OUTWITS    CHARLIE     HOYT.  75 

'  Ladies  and  gentlemen — I  am  here  to  offer  an  apology, 
and  I  wish  to  be  fair  with  my  patrons.  The  fact  is  that, 
through  some  annoying  error,  our  car-load  of  scenery  has 
gone  on  to  the  next  town,  and  consequently  we  are  with 
out  it.  Now  we  propose  to  ask  your  indulgence  under 
the  circumstances,  but  if  there  are  any  present  who  feel 
so  disposed,  they  can  have  their  money  refunded  at  the 
box  office.'  Of  course,  these  remarks  always  met  with  a 
generous  round  of  encouraging  applause,  and  no  one 
went  out.  After  this  the  six  people  proceeded  to  give  a 
very  lame  performance  of  'Hamlet,'  without  scenery  or 
costumes,  and  the  audience  had  no  chance  to  kick.  Since 
those  days  Herne  has  'caught  on.'  " 


*  * 
* 


"  I  heard  a  good  one,  the  other  day,  on  Charlie  Hoyt, 
the  author  of  '  A  Rag  Baby,' "  put  in  the  Professor. 
"  When  traveling,  he  always  carries  with  him  a  board,  a 
hammer,  nails,  and  a  lot  of  foolscap  paper.  These 
articles  he  has  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  where  he  stops, 
and  when  he  is  lying  in  bed  at  night  he  thinks  of  a  good 
many  new  and  clever  points  for  his  farce  comedies. 
When  one  of  these  novel  ideas  strikes  him,  he  jumps 
from  his  bed,  seizes  pencil  and  foolscap  paper,  and  hur 
riedly  jots  it  down.  Then  he  takes  the  board  and  nails 
the  idea  to  the  floor,  in  order  that  it  may  not  escape  him. 
In  the  morning  he  releases  the  happy  thought  and  dresses 
it  up.  Why,  there  is  one  room  in  the  Palmer  House 
which  he  always  occupies,  and  the  carpet  is  just  full  of 
these  nail-holes.  I  have  been  told  that  one  night 
*  Hoochy-Coochy  '  Rice,  the  minstrel  man — they  always 
call  Billy  '  Hoochy-Coochy,'  because  he  invariably  says 
that  whenever  he  comes  on  the  stage — entered  Hoyt's 
room  with  a  dark  lantern  and  a  jimmy  and  stole  a  new 
song  which  the  author  had  just  written  and  nailed  to  the 


76  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

bedstead.  I  hardly  believe  this,  though,  as  I  have  heard 
Billy  Rice  very  often,  and  never  knew  of  his  having  any 
thing  new." 

*  * 
* 

"Speaking  of  Hoyt,"  said  the  Reporter,  "reminds  me 
of  the  big  boom  John  Russell  gave  his  latest  play,  'A 
Tin  Soldier,'  at  the  New  York  opening.  It  was  a  great 
piece  of  booming,  I  can  tell  you.  You  know  that  the 
Excise  Law  in  New  York  City  is  very  strictly  enforced, 
and  at  certain  hours  the  bars  are  covered  by  huge 
muslin  shades,  upon  each  of  which  is  a  sign  reading, 
'Bar  Closed.'  Taking  this  as  a  suggestion,  Russell  pro 
cured  hundreds  of  neatly  printed  signs,  bearing  the 
legend, 'Bar  Closed,  by  Order  of  A  Tin  Soldier,' and 
these  were  hung  up  on  the  muslin  shades  all  around 
town  after  hours.  He  also  procured  similar  signs  for 
the  barber-shops,  which  all  close  at  a  certain  time.  Then 
he  secured  space  on  tall  buildings  opposite  each  of  the 
city  theaters,  and  hung  up  huge  advertisements  of  the 
play.  At  night  these  were  illuminated  by  the  brilliant 
electric  lights  of  the  theaters  over  the  way,  and  all 
theater-goers  were  forced  to  see  them.  The  crowning 
stroke,  however,  was  his  work  at  the  first  League  base 
ball  game,  on  the  Polo  grounds.  About  twelve  thousand 
people  were  present,  listening  to  the  music,  and  washing 
the  players  w'ould  hurry  onto  the  field.  It  was  an  hour 
before  the  time  of  calling  game.  Something  happened, 
and  twenty-four  thousand  eyes  were  riveted  upon  three 
men,  clad  in  overalls  and  carrying  paste-buckets  and 
ladders.  They  appeared  in  the  outfield,  walked  toward 
the  lower  fence,  and  there  began  to  paste  bills.  A  great 
big  '  A '  went  up  first,  and  the  crowd  wondered  what  was 
coming.  Then  the  whole — 'A  Tin  Soldier' — went  up 
in  sections  as  the  crowd  gazed  at  the  fence,  and  then  a 


JAMES  O'CONNOR  ROCHE'S  TRAMP.  77 

shout  went  up  for  the  ingenuity  of  the  advertiser.  It  was 
great  booming  all  around,  and  the  result  was  that  the 
play  turned  people  away  from  the  unluckiest  theater  in 

New  York  for  weeks." 

*  * 
* 

"James  O'Connor  Roche,  the  author  of  Kate  For- 
sythe's  new  play,  *  Marcelle,'  has  done  a  good  deal  of  the 
entertaining  this  week,"  said  the  Night  Clerk.  "He 
told  us  a  good  one  about  a  tramp  who  ventured  into  a 
New  York  bar-room,  last  fall,  in  quest  of  alms.  It  was  a 
raw  and  chilly  night — Thanksgiving  eve — and  the  tramp 
was  lame  and  poorly  clad.  To  employ  Mr.  Roche's 
classic  language,  'he  had  kidneys  in  his  feet;'  hence  his 
faltering  gait.  But  he  was  a  veritable  '  Chesterfield  in 
rags '  withal.  Leaning  against  the  highly  polished  bar 
were  a  group  of  actors,  '  in  for  reorganization.'  The 
tramp  politely  lifted  what  remained  of  his  hat,  and  said: 
'Gentlemen,  could  I  ask  you  for  a  dime,  wherewith  to 
procure  food  and  a  night's  lodging  ? '  There  was  a  gen 
eral  shaking  of  heads  among  the  actors.  'You  may 
have  a  turkey  concealed  about  your  person,'  continued 
the  outcast.  '  To-morrow  is  Thanksgiving,  and  I  have 
little  to  be  thankful  for.'  At  this  appeal  the  cold  hearts 
of  the  histrions  melted,  and  the  pennies  that  were  forth 
coming  were  received  with  regal  politeness  and  profuse 
thanks.  A  spirit  of  guying  seized  the  group,  and  as  the 
poor  tramp  faltered  toward  the  door,  one  of  them  asked, 
'What  is  the  matter  with  your  feet,  my  friend  ? '  Half- 
turning,  he  answered,  'I  stepped  on  a  lighted  cigar, 
sir,' and  then  he  resumed  his  weary  way.  'Where  are 
you  living  now?'  was  the  next  question  shot  at  him 
from  the  group.  '  Hush,'  whispered  the  tramp,  mys 
teriously,  4  I'm  not  living  at  all — this  is  only  a  bluff;'  and 
he  was  gone." 


78  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  Roche  tells  another  good  one,  at  the  expense  of  the 
West  Division  Railway  Company,"  said  the  Counsellor. 
"  He  jumped  on  the  front  platform  of  a  street-car  down 
town,  one  cold  night  last  winter,  to  ride  over  to  the 
Academy  and  see  his  play,  '  Shane-na-Lawn,'  in  which 
Billy  Scanlan  is  starring.  It  was  not  too  cold  for  his  neces 
sary  smoke,  and  he  braved  the  blast  for  the  sake  of  his 
weed.  The  driver,  a  stumpy  little  Irishman,  slapped  his 
breast  and  stamped  his  feet  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  keep 
warm.  '  Cold  night,  my  friend,'  volunteered  Roche.  '  In- 
dade  it  is,  sor,'  came  in  a  rich  brogue  from  beneath  the 
heavy  muffler.  '  Been  long  with  the  company? '  was  Roche's 
next  query.  '  About  twilve  year,  sor — kim  up,  there  ! ' 
to  the  horses.  *  You  must  be  quite  a  favorite  with  the 
company,  then,'  came  from  between  the  puffs  of  Roche's 
cigar.  '  That  I  am,  sor.  D'ye  say  that  ould  gray  mare 
there,  an  the  nigh  side  ?  Well,  lasht  summer  her  an'  I 
wor  tuk  sick  at  the  sem  toime.  The  cump'ny  sint  fer  a 
docther  fer  her,  an'  docked  me.  Oh,  yis,  Oi'm  a  great 
fav'rit  wid  the  cump'ny,  Oi  am,  sor;'  and  Roche  jumped 

off  at  Halsted  street." 

*  * 
* 

Just  here  the  Proprietor  noticed  that  several  members 
of  the  Club  limped  painfully  when  they  walked,  and  he 
was  informed  that  they  had  been  inveigled  by  alleged 
friends  into  playing  a  game  of  base-ball,  a  few  days 
before,  in  nines  captained  respectively  by  Sullivan,  the 
slugger,  and  Muldoon,  the  wrestler.  Five  innings  had 
been  played  when  the  game  was  called  "  on  account  of 
mud."  It  had  been  great  sport  until  the  next  day,  when 
aching  joints  and  bruised  fingers  had  their  innings,  and 
then  the  members  were  actually  "  dead  sore."  Each  one 
bore  marks  of  the  ball  as  it  had  come  from  the  ample 
hand  of  Mr.  Sullivan,  and  in  bathing-dress  they  would 


A    LARGE    BALL    GAME.  79 

have  readily  passed  for  tattooed  men.  Besides  this,  they 
had  been  assessed  one  dollar  each  to  defray  the  burial 
expenses  of  the  umpire,  who  had  been  the  unwilling  victim 
of  a  strike,  and  a  third  strike  at  that.  And  so  the  mem 
bers  sat  around  and  nursed  their  bruises  with  a  lotion 
compounded  by  the  Purveyor,  looking  as  though  they 
would  willingly  issue  a  challenge  to  Fox's  martyrs  to 
martyr  against  time  for  the  gate-money.  They  sat  there 
until  they  heard  Sullivan  at  the  front  door,  asking1  if  there 
was  any  truth  in  the  report  that  certain  members  of  the 
Club  had  been  talking  about  him.  If  so,  he  was  anxious 
to  find  the  man.  In  a  minute,  the  Club  hastily  adjourned 
through  the  rear  door  in  a  body. 


VIII. 

TURNOVERS  AS  INVENTORS — The  Actor's  Great  Scheme  for  Serving 
Course  Dinners  with  a  Stereopticon — Illusory  Meals — The  Dizzy 
Actor  Reaches  Town — Ned  Thome's  Mastiff — Will  McConnell's 
Menagerie — Pauline  Hall's  Chinese  Dude — Gean  Smith's  Horse- 
Painting — George  Middleton  and  "  God  Save  the  Queen." 

When  the  Turnover  Club  met  in  the  Usual  Resort 
last  evening,  the  Agent  and  the  Actor  were  busily  engaged 
in  perfecting  the  details  of  a  scheme  which  both  agreed 
would  inflict  at  least  partial  paralysis  upon  the  Nation. 
It  was  the  creation  of  the  Agent's  fertile  brain,  and  its 
very  audacity  astounded  the  members.  His  idea  was  to 
establish  on  a  prominent  thoroughfare  of  the  city  a 
"spectacular  lunch-room."  The  Stoddard  lectures  had 
always  been  so  popular  that  he  saw  no  reason  why  a 
restaurant  conducted  upon  a  similar  plan  would  not 
make  an  instantaneous  and  decided  hit.  The  rooms 
would  be  darkened  during  the  phantom  meals,  by  heavy 
curtains,  and  colored  views  of  the  various  courses  would 
be  thrown  upon  a  large  sheet  by  a  powerful  Stereopticon, 
while  the  Actor  would  lecture  from  the  stage  upon  each 
dish  as  it  was  shown.  Fumes  from  the  nearest  restau 
rant  would  be  brought  in  through  pipes,  in  order  to  com 
plete  the  illusion.  In  this  way,  by  charging  a  very  small 
admission  fee,  a  man  could  partake  of  a  course  dinner 
without  fear  of  the  pangs  of  indigestion  which  attend 
the  actual  hearty  meal.  It  would  commend  itself  par 
ticularly  to  actors  "  resting  "  for  the  summer,  as  "  the  pro 
fession  "  would  always  be  recognized  at  the  door.  Artists 
were  now  employed,  the  Agent  said,  in  taking  photo- 

6  (81) 


82  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

graphs  of  various  dishes  served  at  Mr.  Kinsley's  food 
emporium,  and  already  a  most  life-like  picture  of  a  ver 
mouth  cocktail  had  been  secured.  This  would  be 
exhibited  prior  to  each  exhibition  meal,  as  an  appetizer. 
As  each  course  appeared  upon  the  sheet,  the  lecturer 
would  pause  until  each  one  in  the  room  had  seasoned  it 
to  his  taste,  when  the  proper  fume  would  be  turned  on 
and  the  lecturer  proceed.  A  counterfeit  presentment 
of  a  good  table  claret  would  be  served  in  an  annex,  at  a 
slight  advance.  Course  tickets  would  be  on  sale  at  the 
leading  music-stores,  and  there  would  be  an  entire  change 
of  bill  every  week,  to  accommodate  the  holders  of  these 
illusory  meal-tickets.  It  was  unanimously  agreed  on 
all  sides  that  this  idea  of  the  Agent  was  entitled  to  posi 
tion  in  the  bright  lexicon  of  the  Club  as  a  synonym  for 
the  word  "corker,"  and  the  members  all  promised  to 
attend  the  exhibition  of  the  opening  meal.  All  that  the 
Agent  feared,  he  said,  was  that  the  constant  attendance 
of  the  Actor  as  lecturer  would  dangerously  overload  his 

stomach. 

*  * 
* 

"  I  have  noticed  during  the  past  week,"  put  in  the 
Manager,  after  the  excitement  had  subsided  somewhat, 
"  that  the/  dizzy  actor  '  is  reaching  the  town  in  great  num 
bers.  I  see  many  of  him  down  on  Clark  street  here  every 
day.  His  wardrobe  is  usually  very  light — not  enough  of  it 
left  to  make  an  ample  and  satisfactory  pair  of  pantaloons 
for  an  able-bodied  man.  He  wears  paper  cuffs,  and 
every  morning  he  carefully  scissors  off  the  soiled  edges, 
pulls  them  out  of  his  coat-sleeves  a  little  further,  and 
then  readjusts  the  safety-pins.  He  laundries  his  own 
collar  with  an  erasing-rubber  and  a  hunk  of  billiard 
chalk.  How  he  lives,  no  one  can  tell.  He  could  take  a 
pair  of  these  paper  cuffs  and  a  two-dollar  bill  and  go 


NED  THORNE'S  MASTIFF.  83 

around  the  world  without  changing  either.  Yet  he 
appears  to  have  all  the  beer  he  wants,  and  to  be  cheerful 
withal.  Verily,  I  say  that  the  *  fakir '  is  a  mystery  no 

one  can  successfully  solve." 

*  * 
* 

"  Jim  Roche  told  me  another  good  one  the  other  day," 
remarked  the  Counsellor.  "  About  two  summers  ago  he 
accepted  an  invitation  from  Ned  Thome,  the  actor,  to 
visit  him  at  his  summer  home  near  Long  Branch.  When 
he  arrived  there,  he  found  Ned  and  his  brother  William 
busily  engaged  in  moving  into  the  house  a  lot  of  furniture 
that  had  just  arrived.  William  was  attired  in  a  pair  of 
long  overalls  tied  over  his  shoulders  with  bits  of  rope,  and 
both  were  working  hard.  Of  course,  Roche,  even  though 
a  guest,  started  in  to  help  them,  whereupon  Ned  stopped 
lifting  and  merely  laid  his  hands  on  things,  saying  he  was 
afraid  he  might  break  them.  Mrs.  Thome  remonstrated 
with  him  for  allowing  their  '  company '  to  labor,  but  he 
declared  that  he  could  not  prevent  him  from  so  doing  if 
he  insisted.  The  job  was  finally  completed,  however, 
and  that  evening  the  three  men  drove  over  to  Long 
Branch.  While  sitting  in  the  reading-room  of  the  Ocean 
House — Ned's  favorite  resort — a  Jerseyman  entered 
with  a  lot  of  woodcock  and  some  eels.  Thinking  that 
this  combination  would  make  a  great  breakfast,  Ned 
purchased  a  mess  and  took  them  home,  where  they 
were  placed  in  the  ice-box  over  night.  This  ice-box  was 
outside  of  the  house,  and  when  William  arose,  bright  and 
early  the  next  morning,  he  found,  to  his  dismay,  that 
some  enterprising  tramp  had  entirely  cleaned  out  the 
larder.  Ned  was  informed,  and  when  he  learned  the 
true  state  of  affairs,  he  awoke  half  of  the  Branch  with  his 
forceful  comments.  William  suggested  that  they  should 
have  a  watch-dog,  and  then  Ned  remembered  that 


84  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

McKee  Rankin  had  once  promised  him  a  fine  one,  so  he 
telegraphed  him  to  ship  the  animal  at  once  by  express. 
Two  days  later  the  household  was  seated  on  an  upper 
balcony,  when  the  front  gate  was  opened  by  one  of  two 
Jerseymen  who  carried  between  them  a  huge  box.  The 
Jerseymen  were  pale  but  calm.  Dropping  the  box  in  the 
center  of  the  gravel  path,  one  of  them  walked  up  to  the 
door,  thrust  out  a  book  to  Mrs.  Thome,  and  said, '  Sign,' 
in  a  very  husky  voice.  The  package  was  receipted  for, 
and  the  Jerseymen  hastily  took  their  departure.  Then 
the  household  ventured  out  to  examine  the  box  and  its 
contents.  One  side  of  the  box  was  slatted,  and  through 
the  slats  peered  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  a  young  mastiff, 
who  appeared  to  own  a  head  as  big  as  a  court-house 
and  teeth  like  rows  of  Washington  monuments.  '  Nice 
doggy,'  crooned  Ned,  rather  doubtfully,  as  he  surveyed 
his  prize  and  snapped  his  fingers  from  a  respectful  dis 
tance.  The  response  was  a  fearful  growl,  which  fairly 
crunched  the  gravel  beneath  the  box.  '  Let  him  out, 
Bill,'  said  Ned,  as  he  reached  the  top  step.  *  Not  with 
these  overalls  on,'  responded  William;  and  the  household 
retreated  and  gazed  at  the  box  from  the  balcony. 
Pretty  soon  a  big  Jerseyman  who  did  chores  about  the 
place  came  into  the  yard,  accompanied  by  his  small 
yellow  dog.  This  intrusion  was  too  much  for  the  mas 
tiff  in  the  box.  With  a  howl  of  rage,  he  bounded 
through  the  slats,  and  the  Jerseyman  and  his  dog  dis 
appeared  over  the  fence  in  a  great  hurry.  The  mastiff 
owned  the  place,  and  he  at  once  proceeded  to  promenade 
around  the  house  without  interference.  Everyone  who 
went  along  the  road  after  that  was  saluted  by  Ned  with 
a  yell  of,  '  Hey,  come  and  kill  a  mad  dog!  '  but  no  one 
accepted  the  invitation.  Finally,  along  came  a  Jersey 
man  who  said  he  would  go  and  get  his  gun,  and  as  he 


WILL  M'CONNELL'S  MENAGERIE.  85 

plodded  off  up  the  road,  the  two  Thornes  and  Roche 
whistled  'Johnny,  Get  Your  Gun.'  In  ten  minutes,  he 
returned  with  it  over  his  shoulder,  and  entered  the  yard. 
At  first  he  did  not  see  the  mastiff,  but  the  mastiff  saw  him 
at  once  and  made  a  wild  rush  for  him.  With  a  frightened 
cry,  the  fellow  dropped  his  gun  and  cleared  the  high 
fence  with  a  bound.  Then,  Mrs.  Thorne  settled  matters 
by  quietly  going  down  to  the  front  door,  calling  the  dog, 
patting  him  affectionately,  and  becoming  his  friend  at 
once.  She  started  to  lead  him  upstairs,  when  Ned  and 
William  rushed  into  their  respective  chambers,  locked 
themselves  in,  and  threw  the  keys  out  of  their  windows, 
Roche,  being  a  guest,  did  not  run,  though  he  felt  mighty 
nervous,  he  said,  as  the  huge  animal  walked  up  and 
carefully  inspected  him.  The  dog  began  to  feel  at 
home  then,  and  thereafter  he  was  as  gentle  as  a  lamb; 
but  Roche  says  that  was  one  of  the  most  exciting  days 

he  ever  put  in,  and  he  has  seen  great  excitement." 

*  * 

"  Have  you  heard  about  the  menagerie  of  William 
Ananias  McConnell  ?  "  queried  the  Agent.  "  Well,  you 
know  he  had  a  rooster  up  near  his  flat,  and  the  bird 
murdered  sleep  in  a  frightful  manner;  used  to  hold 
conversations  at  early  dawn  with  a  cousin  who  scratches 
gravel  in  Pullman.  A  sign  in  the  hall-way  of  the  flat 
building  read,  '  Please  leave  calls  with  rooster; '  that  was 
when  a  tenant  wanted  to  arise  early.  One  very  dark  night, 
Will  arose,  captured  the  disagreeable  boy  chicken,  and 
took  him  to  the  pound,  where  he  pounded  his  head  off.  All 
went  well  thereafter  until  the  bereaved  family  in  the  lower 
flat  purchased  a  female  goat  to  replace  the  dead  rooster. 
Recently,  Will  has  been  adorning  the  interior  walls  of  his 
barn  with  lithographs  of  '  show  people,'  and,  on  the  even 
ing  of  the  day  the  new  goat  arrived,  he  started  for  the 


Ob  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

barn  to  tack  up  a  lithograph  of  '  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde.'  The  goat  ambled  after  him.  As  there  are 
eleven  clothes-lines  stretched  across  the  yard,  and  as 
Willie  has  no  burning  desire  to  cut  his  throat,  he  has  to 
crawl  to  the  barn,  which  is  at  the  end  of  the  lot.  When 
he  had  tacked  up  the  lithograph,  he  started  to  return  to 
the  house,  but  the  goat  was  awaiting  him,  and  there 
was  fire  in  his  eye,  so  Will  went  out  through  the  alley 
and  sought  the  front  door.  Last  Monday,  he  lost  four 
shirts,  and  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  them  until 
he  saw  the  goat  expectorating  shirt-buttons.  Now  he 
uses  a  large  scantling  when  he  goes  to  the  barn,  and  de 
clares  that  he  will  brain  the  animal  if  she  molests  him." 


*  * 
* 


"  This  Pauline  Hall,  of  the  '  Erminie  '  company,  has  a 
novel  admirer  in  the  person  of  a  Chinese  dude  from 
Harvard,"  said  the  Actor.  "When  the  company  was  in 
Boston,  recently,  this  Celestial  witnessed  the  performance, 
and  was  so  deeply  smitten  with  the  fair  Pauline  that  he  at 
once  sat  down  and  indited  a  letter  in  his  native  language. 
She  showed  it  to  Francis  Wilson,  the  comedian,  and  he 
pronounced  it  a  wash  bill,  advising  her  to  pay  it  and 
avoid  trouble.  Then  she  showed  it  to  Charlie  Parsloe 
and  John  Ince,  the  stage  Chinamen,  and  they  trans 
lated  it  for  her.  She  learned  that  the  Chinese  student 
had  written  her  Chinese  words  of  burning  love,  with  the 
end  of  a  tooth-brush,  on  brown  wrapping-paper,  and  she 
was  supremely  happy  at  the  conquest.  Since  that  time, 
the  Chinaman  has  attended  nearly  every  performance  of 
the  company,  and  he  threatens  to  follow  her  here  to 
Chicago.  Some  of  the  local  Sunday-school  students 
have  heard  of  their  swell  countryman's  intentions,  and 
will  lay  for  him  when  he  arrives  and  do  him  up  at  bung 
loo." 


GEAN  SMITH'S  HORSE-PAINTING.  87 

"The  air  was  blue  up  around  the  artists'  studios  last 
Thursday  afternoon,"  said  the  Professor.  "  The  bluish 
tinge  emanated  from  the  studio  of  Gean  Smith,  the  well- 
known  horse  painter.  Now,  you  are  quite  well  aware 
that  Gean  has  a  big  reputation  as  a  delineator  of  fiery 
steeds — in  fact,  when  a  man  sees  one  of  his  race-track 
scenes  he  at  once  looks  around  fora  bookmaker's  stand. 
Well,  last  Thursday,  a  man  dropped  in  on  him  and 
approached  him  in  a  most  mysterious  manner — a  Herr 
Most  mysterious  manner,  in  truth.  'Are  you  the  horse 
painter  ? '  he  whispered;  and  Gean  said  he  was.  *  Then 
I've  got  a  great  scheme,'  the  individual  went  on,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper.  Visions  of  a  great  big  order  floated 
around  the  atelier.  '  I've  got  a  big  mare,'  buzzed  the 
visitor,  '  and  if  you  can  paint  her,  I  think  we  can  "  ring 
her  off"  at  some  of  the  Southern  meetings  this  winter. 
I  think  you'd  better  paint  her  brown,  be  ' — but  Gean 
hustled  the  man  out  to  the  elevator  shaft  and  dropped 
him  into  the  well  beneath.  Then  the  blue  air  floated 
out  lazily  through  the  studio  window  as  the  artist 
expressed  his  opinion  of  the  fellow." 

"  I  heard  the  other  day  of  an  experience  that  George 
Middleton,  the  museum  man,  had  once  in  Australia," 
put  in  the  Reporter.  "  You  know,  of  course,  that  all  Aus 
tralians  are  very  loyal  to  Queen  Victoria.  Well,  George 
went  over  there  with  Cooper  &  Bailey's  circus,  and  was 
anxious  to  make  a  big  hit.  Among  his  attractions  was  a 
big  hand-organ,  with  which  he  expected  to  capture  the 
natives.  After  the  show  had  been  in  the  country  some 
days,  he  was  advised  by  an  Australian  to  have  some 
popular  airs  put  in  the  organ;  so  he  sent  for  new  barrels, 
and  when  they  arrived  he  put  them  in,  one  night,  and 
looked  for  a  big  sensation.  About  8.30  p.  M.,  he  gave 


88  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

the  organist  the  signal,  and  that  worthy  proceeded  to 
grind  out  c  God  Save  the  Queen.'  The  effect  was  mag 
ical,  but  unlooked  for.  The  entire  audience  arose  as 
one  man  and  deliberately  walked  out  of  the  tent,  in 
spite  of  Bailey's  yells  that  the  show  was  not  over.  The 
following  night,  no  one  came  to  the  tent,  and  Middleton 
asked  the  hotel  proprietor  what  the  trouble  was.  *  Your 
show  is  too  short,'  he  said.  '  The  people  don't  get  their 
money's  worth.'  And  it  was  only  then  George  learned 
that  in  all  shows  in  that  country  the  tune  '  God  Save  the 
Queen  '  is  regarded  by  the  audience  as  we  regard  '  Home, 
Sweet  Home ' — as  a  signal  for  dispersing.  So  George 
shifted  that  tune  to  the  last  act,  and  did  well  there 
after." 


*     ' 
* 


"  I  see,"  broke  in  the  Manager,  "  that  the  Reporter 
has  ignited  and  is  engaged  in  smoking  another  piece  of 
rope.  That  is  usually  the  signal  for  adjournment;"  and 
the  members  faded  away  for  a  week. 


IX. 


YARNS  IN  THE  USUAL  RESORT — The  Reporter  Explains  Why  He 
Wears  His  Neck  in  a  Sling — The  Departed  Wen — The  Smitten 
Orchestra  Leader — Could  not  "Double  the  Parts" — Young  Tony 
Denier's  Bomb — The  Counsellor's  Fire-cracker — A  Bogus  One- 
George  Gore's  "  Charly  Horse" — Daboll  and  Sullivan's  Trainer 
— Dan  Brouther's  Plaint — The  Ambitious  Baritone — The  Agent 
Buys  Western  Union. 

When  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  met  in  the 
Usual  Resort  last  evening,  the  Reporter  appeared  with 
his  neck  swathed  in  bandages,  and  the  Agent  was  desirous 
of  knowing  if  he  had  gone  into  training  as  a  rival 
of  Barney  Baldwin,  the  man  with  the  dime  museum 
broken  neck.  "  No,"  was  the  scribe's  response;  "  I  wear 
these  samples  of  dress-goods  around  my  neck  for 
the  reason  that  the  other  day  my  person  was  separated 
from  a  small  but  vigorous  wen  on  the  o.  p.  side  of  the 
epiglottis.  Owing  to  its  awkward  location,  I  was  unable 
to  make  it  do  service  as  a  collar-button,  so  it  had  to  go. 
When  I  applied  for  the  separation,  it  looked  as  though 
there  might  be  trouble ;  but  when  the  surgeon's  keen- 
edged  knife  entered  an  appearance,  I  imagined  that 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  cross-bill  must  have  been 
filed.  However,  the  trial  resulted  in  my  favor;  but  I  expect 
that  when  the  surgeon  files  his  bill  for  alimony  I  will 
be  forced  to  schedule  out.  During  the  past  week,  I  have 
had  eighty-four  men  ask  me  what  the  matter  was, 
and  when  I  replied  that  I  had  had  a  wen  amputated, 
eighty-three  of  the  questioners  asked  '  When  ? '  The 
eighty-fourth  was  a  deaf  mute  friend  of  mine,  whose 

(89) 


90  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

lead-pencil  broke  off  short,  fortunately,  when  he  started 
to  spring  the  gag  himself.  A  friend  of  mine  in  the 
show-printing  business  is  getting  me  up  a  lithograph 
to  give  as  a  souvenir  to  the  hundredth  man  who  asks 

me  the  question." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  notice,"  remarked  the  Actor,  "  that  they  are  play 
ing  Bartley  Campbell's  old  piece,  *  How  Women  Love,' 
over  at  the  Wonderland,  and  I  want  to  show  you  how 
men  love.  Here  is  a  letter  from  an  orchestra  leader  to  a 
lady  in  the  company  he  was  with  at  one  time.  I'll  read 
it  just  as  it  is  written.  Here  goes:.  *  Dear  Friend  May 
— Before  commencing  my  letter  I  ask  your  pardon  to  let 
you  wait  so  long  for  a  letter,  but  I  have  been  bussy 
arranging  music  last  week.  I  was  verry  much  disap 
pointed  not  to  find  you  at  the  depot  wen  I  left  to  give 
you  the  good-bye  kiss — but  I  send  you  one  whit  this 
letter.  I  give  you  two  as  soon  as  I  see  you  again. 
I  guess  you  are  still  busy  all  day  writing  Contracts  &  ect. 
We  done  fair  business  last  week.  I  am  verry  lonely  for 
all  the  lady's  in  our  company  are  married.  I  wish  only 
you  were  whit  us.  I  suppose  you  are  still  eating  your 
little  pie  every  morning — I  am  sorry  that  1  can't  help 
you.  You  must  excuse  me  but  I  think  of  you  all 
the  time,  your  black  eyes  shine  in  to  my  heart  most  all 
the  time.  They  have  captured  my  heart — it  is  gone,  if  I 
would  be  surden  of  your  love,  it  be  some  relief — I  will 
now  close  my  letter  by  sending  you  thousands  of  kisses. 
Yours  to  the  end.'  Well,  I  guess  I'll  not  read  his  name, 
and  I  would  rather  not  divulge  the  name  of  the  lady  who 

is  in  the  habit  of  eating  pie  in  the  morning." 

*  * 
* 

"  This  Inter-State  Commerce  Bill  is  playing  havoc  with 
the  cheap  companies,"  said  the  Manager.  "  They  are 


YOUNG    TONY    DENIER^S    BOMB.  91 

having  a  hard  time  on  the  road,  just  now,  to  scrape 
up  full  railroad  fares.  The  other  day  I  ran  across 
George  Deyo,  who  has  just  arrived  in  town  after  a  suc 
cessful  season  with  Scanlan,  the  Irish  comedian,  of 
*  Peek-a-boo  '  fame.  George  was  telling  me  that  some 
of  the  '  James  Crow  '  managers  were  getting  the  best  of 
the  railroads  by  employing  fewer  people  in  their  compa 
nies,  and  making  each  man  in  their  hire  play  many  parts. 
A  certain  manager  of  this  stamp  hired  an  actor  to  play 
three  separate  and  distinct  parts  in  one  play.  It  was  a 
formidable  task,  but  the  salary  was  small  and  sure,  so  he 
agreed.  One  evening,  the  manager  met  him  and  handed 
him  the  three  parts  to  study.  The  following  morning 
the  actor  hunted  up  his  employer,  and  returned  him  the 
parts,  saying:  'I  can  not  do  this  work — it's  utterly  im 
possible.'  'And  why  not?'  was  the  manager's  surprised 
query.  '  Because  in  the  first  act  two  of  the  parts  quarrel 
and  the  third  one  separates  them,  and  I'm  blowed  if  I  can 
see  how  I  can  play  all  three — I'm  no  Saxe-Meinmingar 

company  ! '  " 

*  * 

"  The  young  son  of  old  Tony  Denier,  the  pantomim- 
ist,  had  a  great  deal  of  fun  last  week,"  put  in  the  Agent. 
"Among  his  numerous  acquaintances  is  a  Polish  market- 
gardener,  who  has  a  hot-house  out  near  Washington 
Park,  and  raises  parsley  and  sich  for  the  city  trade.  He 
professes  to  be  a  confirmed  anarchist,  and  is  always  say 
ing  that  he  would  delight  in  pitching  an  out-curve  bomb 
at  some  bloated  capitalist.  Young  Tony  guys  him,  and 
tells  him  he  is  no  true  anarchist;  that  he  is  not  a  No.  6, 
and  that  he  wouldn't  throw  a  bomb  if  he  had  one.  Such 
talk  exasperates  the  Pole,  and  he  protests  vigorously  that 
he  would  like  to  bathe  in  capitalistic  gore.  One  day, 
early  in  the  week,  Tony  took  some  friends  out  to  this 


92  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

fellow's  place  with  him,  and  in  his  pocKet  he  carried  a 
papier-mache  stage-bomb  of  his  own  manufacture.  The 
party  found  the  alleged  disciple  of  Herr  Most  in  his  hot 
house,  and  the  last  man  to  enter,  closed  and  locked  the 
door.  In  the  course  of  the  conversation  which  ensued, 
the  gardener's  favorite  subject  was  broached,  and  young 
Tony  began  his  usual  tactics.  Finally,  he  said  :  '  I  don't 
believe  you  would  throw  a  bomb,  and  I  am  going  to  test 
you.'  He  took  from  his  pocket  the  pasteboard  engine 
of  destruction,  calmly  lighted  its  fuse  with  his  cigar,  and 
then  bowled  it  down  the  middle  alley  of  the  hot-house. 
In  the  mad  rush  for  the  door  which  followed,  the  blood 
thirsty  anarchist  went  under  the  wire  several  lengths  in 
the  lead;  and  when  he  discovered  that  the  door  was 
locked,  he  presented  a  picture  of  abject  terror,  until  the 
paper  bomb  fell  apart  with  a  slight  puff  and  a  squirt  of 
smoke.  Then  he  did  get  mad;  and  he  threatens  to  get 
even  with  young  Tony,  at  the  first  opportunity,  through 

the  medium  of  a  real  bomb — n.o> papier-mache  affair." 

*  * 

* 
"  Let  me  tell  you  fellows  it  is  fortunate   that  you  are 

not  wearing  the  usual  thirty-day  badge  of  mourning 
for  a  deceased  member,"  remarked  the  Proprietor. 
"  The  Counsellor  had  a  narrow  escape  from  a  violent 
death,  at  my  hands,  last  Monday.  He  was  celebrating 
the  Fourth  of  July,  and  he  came  in  here  in  the  evening 
looking  exceedingly  innocent  and  child-like.  But  his 
looks  belied  him.  When  I  wasn't  looking,  he  sneaked 
down  to  the  lunch-counter  and  cautiously  inserted  a 
large  common  fire-cracker  in  the  heating-oven.  Lighting 
it  with  his  cigar,  and  then  closing  the  door  carefully,  he 
moved  off  to  await  developments.  The  developments 
arrived  on  schedule  time.  It  was  an  awful  explosion, 
and  it  distributed  the  contents  of  the  oven  in  all  direc- 


THE  COUNSELLOR'S  FIRE-CRACKER.  93 

tions.  An  innocent  customer  who  was  sitting  at  a  table 
near  by,  engaged  in  disposing  of  half  a  lobster,  had  his 
back  hair  combed  and  oiled  with  a  plate  of  asparagus, 
and  a  sirloin  medium  shot  out  of  a  side  door  and  fell  in 
the  alley  with  a  dull,  sickening  thud.  Meals  were  strewn 
everywhere,  and  the  frightened  cook  fell  back  upon  the 
broiler,  with  the  most  painful  results.  Something  led  me 
to  suspect  the  Counsellor  of  the  vile  deed,  and  I  made 
for  him  ;  but  he  was  too  quick  for  me,  and  made  good 
his  escape.  I'm  sorry  now  that  I  didn't  kill  him.  The 
very  best  I  could  do,  under  the  circumstances,  was  to 
lump  all  of  the  distributed  meals  and  adorn  his  '  tab  ' 

with  the  amount." 

*  * 
* 

"Speaking  of  common  fire-crackers," put  in  the  Agent, 
"  reminds  me  that  I  saw  a  sensation  created  with  one  the 
other  day.  A  man  who  was  pretty  full  entered  a  wet 
grocery  where  I  was  standing  with  a  party,  and  while  the 
purveyor  there  was  mixing  the  drink  he  ordered,  he  sat 
one  of  those  large  red  holocausts  on  the  bar  and  touched 
off  the  strings  with  a  cigar-lighter.  It  had  just  begun  to 
sizzle  when  we  all  discovered  it.  The  purveyor  saw  it  at 
the  same  time  and  dropped  to  the  floor  with  a  yell,  while 
we  all  rushed  wildly  for  the  door.  'Hold  on!'  yelled 
the  stranger.  'Whatcher  'fraid  of? '  And  he  pinched  out 
the  sparks  between  his  fingers,  removed  a  pasteboard 
cap  from  the  top  of  the  cracker,  and  pulled  out  a  roll  of 
circulars,  which  he  proceeded  to  distribute  in  the  now 
curious  crowd.  He  was  an  agent  for  an  accident  insur 
ance  company  which  had  adopted  this  novel  method 
of  advertising  its  business.  We  all  laughed  at  the  joke, 
but  the  purveyor  couldn't  get  over  it.  He  said  it 
was  mean  to  play  such  a  trick  on  a  man  who  had  heart 
disease." 


94  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  When  George  Gore,  the  New  York  fielder,  was  here 
with  his  nine,  last  week,  I  asked  him  the  meaning  of  the 
base-ball  term  '  charly  horse,'  "  put  in  the  Actor;  "and  he 
told  me  that  little  Joe  Quest,  the  old  Chicago  player  and 
umpire,  had  introduced  the  phrase  into  the  League.  By 
trade,  he  said  Quest  was  a  blacksmith;  and  when  he  was 
at  work  in  a  foundry,  some  years  ago,  it  was  quite  a  com 
mon  occurrence  for  a  man  who  swung  a  heavy  hammer 
continually  to  be  affected  with  a  sprain  of  the  muscles 
and  tendons  of  the  fore-arm.  The  workmen  called  this 
ailment  a  'charly  horse;'  and  when  Quest  introduced  it 
into  base-ball,  it  was  at  once  adopted  and  given  a  broader 
meaning,  and  made  to  include  sprains  of  all  tendons  and 
muscles.  This  is  said  by  Gore  to  be  the  real  derivation 

of  the  curious  term." 

*  * 
* 

"  Lou  Weed,  the  fat  and  handsome  treasurer  of  Aron- 
son's  '  Erminie '  company,  who  now  adorns  the  door  of 
the  Grand  at  every  performance,  is  a  great  story-teller," 
remarked  the  Agent.  "  One  day,  while  in  New  York,  he 
was  standing  in  front  of  the  Casino,  just  before  a  mati 
nee,  with  Will  Daboll,  of  the  company,  and  he  called  the 
latter's  attention  to  a  slender,  finely  built  young  man  who 
was  approaching,  saying:  'There  comes  John  L.  Sulli 
van's  trainer.'  Daboll  sized  him  up,  and  wanted  to  know 
if  he  could  fight.  '  I  guess  he  can,'  replied  Lou.  '  I 
saw  him  lick  six  big  men  on  Sixth  avenue  one  morning.' 
The  trainer  paused  to  chat,  and  was  introduced  to  Daboll. 
When  he  started  to  leave,  he  offered  to  shake  hands  with 
Weed;  but  Lou  knew  him,  and  declined  the  grip.  Not  so 
Daboll.  He  reached  forth  his  good  right  hand,  and  in  a 
moment  it  was  inclosed  in  a  vise  of  iron  and  almost 
wrenched  off.  'Hold  on,  there!'  yelled  Daboll.  'I've 
got  to  use  that  again; '  and  as  the  sport  tripped  laugh- 


DAN    BROUTHERS'    PLAINT.  (.)5 

ingly  up  the  street,  the  actor  carefully  examined  his  fin 
gers  and  said,  '  Yes,  I  guess  he  can  fight.'  " 


* 

* 


"  That  man  Daboll  greatly  admires  sport  and  sports 
men  of  all  sorts,"  put  in  the  Night  Clerk.  "  He  stops 
down  with  us  at  the  Tremont,  and  the  other  afternoon  he 
stood  in  the  rotunda,  gazing  at  the  members  of  the 
Detroit  and  St.  Louis  base-ball  teams,  who  had  just  been 
playing  one  of  the  world's  championship  games  here. 
After  his  eyes  had  drunk  in  the  massive  proportions  of 
each  player,  he  strolled  toward  the  elevator  and  took  a 
seat  in  the  car.  Following  on  his  heels  was  big  Dan 
Brouthers,  the  giant  first-baseman  of  the  Detroits,  who 
was  stopped  at  the  door  by  a  base-ball  crank  who  eagerly 
inquired  the  score.  '  Four  to  three,'  wearily  responded 
Dan,  apparently  thinking  that  his  questioner  would  take 
it  for  granted  who  were  the  winners.  Then,  as  he  passed 
into  the  car,  he  espied  Daboll  and  said  to  him:  *  I  wonder 
if  you  people  are  as  much  annoyed  as  we  are  by  fellows 
talking  shop.'  This  from  a  ball-player  to  an  opera-singer 
so  astonished  Daboll  that  he  shrunk  into  a  corner  of  the 
car,  and  the  elevator  made  four  trips  before  he  came  to." 


*  * 
* 


"  Just  let  me  read  you  a  specimen  of  '  English  as  she  is 
writ,'  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  received  the  other  day  by 
a  dramatic  agent  here  in  town,"  said  the  Reporter.  "  It 
reads  like  this:  'Kansas  City,  Mo.,  October  8,  1887. 

—  (Agent).  Dear  Sir: — In  answer  to  your  adver  in 
N.  Y.  Clipper  Oct  8th  would  say  I  seek  a  Musical  and 
Dramatical  position  Can  lead  as  ist  Violin  in  Orchestra, 

play  Piano  &  Sing ( High  Baritone  Voice  from 

.[here  is  drawn  a  scale  with  one  note  down  near  the  lower 
cushion  and  another  up  near  the  second  water-jump],  a 
sight  reader,  &  experienced  in  good  Amateur  Dramatic 


96  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

Cos — playing  old  men  &  eccentric  Comedy  parts,  have 
the  gift  of  imitating  any  well  known  actor  with  my  voice 
&  manners — Was  Prompter  &  Musical  leader  to  George 
Stange's  Richard  III.,  the  Actor  now  travelling  in  Miln's 
Co  am  well  read  in  all  the  leading  plays  &  can  memorize 
my  parts  very  rapidly.  I  dress  well,  do  not  chew  or  dis 
sipate,  &  to  have  experience  with  a  GOOD  company  would 
be  pleased  to  accept  a  very  small  salary  &  expenses  at 
first.  Is  your  Company  a  traveling  one  or  Stationary — ? 
Can  send  photo  if  wanted.  If  this  interests  you  shall 
be  glad  to  receive  an  answer — &to  state  any  further  par 
ticulars  that  may  be  desired.  Yours  Resply.'  Now,  what 
do  you  think  of  that  for  a  literary  production  ? " 

*  * 
* 

The  Purveyor  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  was 
cautiously  approached  by  the  speculative  Agent,  who 
informed  him  on  the  quiet  that  he  had  a  sure  thing  in 
stocks,  and  he  strongly  advised  him  to  purchase  Western 
Union.  "  I  bought  some  this  morning,"  said  the  Purveyor. 
"  The  deuce  you  did!  What  did  you  pay  for  it?  "  was  the 
Agent's  astonished  query.  "  Twenty-five  cents  for  ten 
words,"  calmly  replied  the  Purveyor;  and  the  subse 
quent  gloom  was  so  dense  that  the  casual  adjournment 
of  the  Club  could  not  be  distinguished  with  the  naked 
eye.  In  the  language  of  the  versatile  Actor,  it  was  "  a 
body  blow." 


X. 

SOME  TRICKS  OF  THE  TURNOVERS — The  Development  of  Mike 
Kelly's  $10,000  Face  with  a  Glass  of  Beer — A  New  Scheme  in 
Photography — Nat  Goodwin's  Roulette  Seats — Fred  Stinson's 
Dog — A  Peculiar  Sign — The  Season  of  the  "Turkey  Actor  "- 
Ned  Thome's  Conflagration — The  Thanksgiving  Bird — The 
Amateur  Athlete — Captain  Anson's  Racquet  Court. 

When  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  assembled 
in  the  Usual  Resort  last  evening,  they  found  the  Agent 
explaining  to  the  Purveyor  a  new  and  unique  scheme. 
He  said  that  it  had  originally  been  unfolded  to  him  by 
Steve  Richardson,  who  enacted  the  "  haunted  man  "  at 
Kohl  &  Middleton's  Dime  Museum.  When  the  Agent 
said  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should  have  a 
glass  of  beer  to  perform  the  trick  successfully,  the  Pur 
veyor  demurred,  but  finally  his  curiosity  got  the  better 
of  him,  and  he  drew  the  required  beverage.  The  Agent 
first  took  a  sip  of  it,  and  then  poured  a  small  quantity 
on  the  bar  before  him.  Taking  a  small  envelope  from 
his  vest-pocket,  he  opened  it  and  drew  out  a  little 
oblong  piece  of  paper,  and  what  appeared  to  be  a  section 
of  a  blotting-pad.  "  Now,"  he  said,  immersing  both  in 
the  spilled  beer,  "  I  will  reveal  to  you  the  features  of 
your  future  wife."  The  Actor  murmured  something 
which  sounded  very  much  like  "Rats!"  but  he  watched 
the  mysterious  proceeding  with  undisguised  curiosity. 
When  the  paraphernalia  was  thoroughly  soaked,  the 
Agent  proceeded  to  enfold  the  small  bit  of  paper  in  the 
blotting-pad,  and  then  he  tightly  compressed  the  pulpy 
mass  between  the  palms  of  his  hands.  The  suspense 

7  (97) 


98  1HE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

was  terrible.  Pretty  soon  the  Agent  began  to  unfold 
the  mysterious  hunk  of  moisture,  and  from  its  inner 
recesses  he  proudly  withdrew  the  water-logged  bit  of 
paper,  and  handed  it  over  to  the  Purveyor.  Upon  its 
surface  had  appeared  a  face.  It  was  the  well-known 
face  of  the  $10,000  base-ball  beauty,  Michael  Jersey 
Kelly.  "  Is  that  my  future  wife?  "  queried  the  Purveyor, 
sarcastically.  "  I  got  things  rather  mixed,"  explained 
the  Agent,  who  was  quite  discomfited  at  the  failure  of 
his  wonderful  scheme.  "  Steve  gave  me  someone's 
future  husband  by  mistake.  They  never  mix  futures 
over  in  the  museum."  "But  I  don't  see  why  you 
couldn't  have  used  water  instead  of  beer,"  said  the  Pur 
veyor.  "  Not  and  produce  Mike  Kelly's  face,"  was  the 
response. 


* 
* 


"  While  our  'Uncle  Dick  '  Hooley  was  down  East,  last 
summer,"  put  in  the  Manager,  "  he  wrote  Harry  Powers, 
his  assistant,  to  spend  a  little  time  and  money  in  bright 
ening  up  his  pretty  little  play-house  for  the  season;  so 
Harry  soon  had  men  hard  at  work  touching  up  the 
interior  of  the  cosy  theater.  The  frames  of  the  chairs 
were  repainted  and  renumbered,  and  Tommy  Hooley 
was  sent  in  to  superintend  this  work.  New  box  plans 
which  showed  the  system  of  renumbering  were  procured, 
but  they  did  not  attract  any  particular  attention  until  Nat 
Goodwin,  the  comedian,  stepped  up  to  the  box-office 
window,  the  other  day,  to  see  how  his  sale  of  seats  was  for 
the  evening.  Tommy  was  on  deck,  and  as  he  had  just 
refused  to  give  a  box  to  the  editor  of  the  Polish  Wadski, 
he  was  in  a  good  humor.  Nat  gazed  at  the  plan  before 
him,  and  then  said  to  Tom,  '  Give  me  a  stack  of  whites.' 
'What  for  ?' queried  Tommy,  in  astonishment.  'Why, 
I  want  to  play  'em  on  the  "  double  O," '  was  the 


FRED  STINSON'S  DOG.  99 

response,  and  the  comedian  indicated  one  of  two  seats 
at  the  rear  of  the  parquette.  Then  Tommy  '  dropped,' 
and  his  chubby  countenance  gave  birth  to  a  wealth  of 
smiles.  When  the  men  were  renumbering  the  two  sec 
tions  on  the  sides  of  the  parquette,  they  had  run  out  of 
numbers,  and  had  indicated  the  two  remaining  seats  at 
the  end  of  each  section  as  O  and  OO.  Each  side  looked 
like  a  roulette  layout,  and  now  when  a  newspaper  man 
comes  up  and  asks  for  two  seats,  Tommy  folds  up  these 
O  seats,  and  says,  as  he  passes  them  out,  '  The  eagle 
bird,  by  chance.'" 


* 
* 


"  Our  young  friend  Fred  Stinson  is  still  here  with 
Modjeska,"  said  the  Actor,  "  and  his  dog  is  registered 
with  him  at  the  hotel.  It  is  a  good  dog,  too — a  grey 
hound,  about  a  head  taller  than  Fred,  and  a  couple  of 
sizes  too  large,  remarkably  well  trained.  In  small  towns, 
this  sagacious  animal  attends  to  the  gallery  door,  and 
will  always  ring  for  a  pitcher  of  ice-water  in  the  hotels 
every  morning.  It  ought  to  be  a  good  one,  as  it  has 
cost  Fred  many  sleepless  nights,  and  hundreds  of  dollars 
in  rewards.  Charlie  Powers,  the  business  manager  of 
the  company,  keeps  himself  in  cigar  money  through  the 
animal.  When  he  strikes  Fred  in  a  town,  he  hires  a  bo)' 
for  one  dollar  to  steal  the  dog,  and  then  realizes  the  ten- 
dollar  reward  offered  invariably  for  its  return,  thereby 
clearing  nine  dollars  on  the  deal.  Fred  likes  greyhounds 
better  than  mastiffs.  Two  seasons  ago,  Modjeska  had  a 
couple  of  mastiffs  to  support  her  in  a  Russian  play,  and 
Fred  cared  for  the  animals  off  the  stage,  until  one  night, 
upon  arriving  in  Chicago,  they  were  in  a  hurry  to  reach 
the  hotel,  and  dragged  their  little  chaperon  through  the 
big  snowdrifts  to  the  Leland  Hotel.  After  that  experi 
ence,  he  sublet  the  brutes  to  an  *  Uncle  Tom  '  show,  which 


100  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

subsequently  changed  Evas  four  times  in  one  week.  His 
new  dog  is  very  bright,  and  even  laughed  the  other  day 
when  the  holder  of  a  bill-board  pass  addressed  the  Count 

Bozenta  as  *  Mr.  Modjeska.'  " 

#  * 

* 

"Your  reference  to  Nat  Goodwin  a  moment  ago," 
remarked  the  Reporter,  "  reminds  me  that  he  told  me 
the  other  day  he  was  unaware  that  he  was  so  well  known 
in  Chicago,  especially  over  on  the  West  Side."  The 
Reporter,  by  the  way,  was  in  excellent  humor,  as  his 
stylographic  pen  worked  yesterday  for  the  first  time  in 
two  years,  and  he  had  partially  allayed  the  excruciating 
rigors  of  corns  by  the  purchase  of  shoes  which  resem 
bled  a  pair  of  four-ounce  boxing-gloves.  "  The  other 
day,"  he  continued,  "  Nat  was  riding  on  a  West  Side 
car,  having  purchased  a  ticket  for  an  excursion  to  Cali 
fornia  avenue  and  return;  and  he  said  he  was  admiring 
the  beautiful  urban  scenery,  along  with  his  own  litho 
graphs  in  the  shop-windows,  when  suddenly  his  eye 
caught  one  of  the  largest  lithographs,  and  he  nearly  fell 
from  the  car.  There  was  his  smiling  countenance  in  a 
big,  plate-glass  window,  and  this  counterfeit  present 
ment  of  himself  was  topped  by  the  word  *  Liar/  in 
large,  white  letters.  He  said  he  wondered  how  they 
had  'got  onto  him'  away  out  there;  but  as  he  drew 
nearer  to  investigate,  he  discovered  that  he  had  made  a 
fatal  error.  The  plate-glass  belonged  to  a  billiard- 
saloon,  and  across  it  was  the  word  'Billiards;'  but  his 
lithograph,  which  hung  back  of  this,  just  caught  the 
letters  which  made  'Liar.'  Very  much  relieved  at  not 
having  to  slug  a  fellow-man,  the  comedian  went  inside 
and  spent  thirty  cents  playing  billiards  with  himself  for 
an  hour." 


THE    SEASON    OF    THE    "  TURKEY    ACTOR/'  101 

"This  is  the  season  of  the  'turkey  actor,'  "  said  the 
Agent.  "What!  Don't  know  what  a  *  turkey  actor' 
is  ? "  as  the  Proprietor  arose  to  a  question  of  informa 
tion.  "Why,  you're  not  a  voter,  then.  My  boy,  the 
'turkey  actors'  blossom  out  about  Thanksgiving-time, 
and  go  over  the  land  discovering  new  towns.  They 
create  maps  and  open  up  wildernesses.  Like  the  com 
mon  turkey  of  the  barn-yard,  they  flourish  about  the 
ides  of  November,  though  sometimes  they  last  through 
the  later  holidays  of  the  year.  To  the  'turkey  actor'  is 
awarded  the  credit  of  the  discovery  that  'one-night 
stands '  can  be  played  for  a  week,  during  which  time 
'all  of  the  latest  New  York  successes'  can  be  presented 
by  a  band  of  players  whose  wardrobe  is  carried  in  a 
single  hair  trunk,  and  whose  printing  may  be  forwarded 
through  the  mails.  The  '  turkey  actors '  have  encom 
passed  the  seemingly  herculean  task  of  playing  '  Ham 
let '  with  four  people,  all  of  whom  are  capable  of  'play 
ing  brass '  in  the  street  parade.  Their  printing  is 
selected  from  among  the  lurid  assortment  of  'stock- 
cuts'  exhibited  in  show-printing  houses;  and  often,  by  a 
little  necessary  doctoring  with  the  types,  the  gorgeous 
wall-paper  of  the  patent-medicine  proprietor  is  made  to 
do  good  service.  In  my  travels  on  the  edge  of  the  map, 
I  have  witnessed  '  stands  of  bills '  that  would  fairly 
startle  you.  Imagine  graphic  printing  announcing 
Hood's  Celebrated  Comedy  Company,  in  the  powerful, 
blood-regulating  melodrama  entitled  '  Sarsaparilla;  or, 
the  Liver  Regulators  of  Arizona,'  the  manager  of  which 
reserves  the  right  to  sell  books  of  the  play  at  fifty  cents, 
or  three  bottles  for  one  dollar — worth  five  dollars.  Think 
of  three-sheet  posters  reciting  the  merits  of  the  brilliant 
young  prima-donna,  Miss  Virginia  Bitters,  in  comic  opera, 
introducing  the  tonic-sol-fa  system,  and  selling  the  tonic 


102  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

in  the  audience.  Or  Nellie  St.  Jacobs'  Burlesque  Com 
pany,  in  the  laughable  extravaganza  called  '  Struck  Oil; ' 
and  Siddell's  Troubadours,  in  the  farcical  success,  *  Don't 
be  a  Clam,'  with  the  soap  testimonials  artfully  altered  to 
appear  as  indorsements  of  the  show.  But  the  'turkey 
actor '  stops  at  nothing.  He  hires  his  orchestra  at  the 
music-store,  has  his  entire  company  assist  in  carrying  it 
over  to  the  town  hall,  puts  his  reserved  seats  on  sale  at 
the  jewelry-store,  and  then  takes  tickets  until  it  is  time 
for  him  to  dress  for  his  part.  He  never  for  a  moment 
takes  into  consideration  the  population  of  a  town.  He 
alights  from  the  train  at  every  stop.  If  there  is  only  a 
water-tank  there,  he  lets  the  water  out  and  plays  in  the 
tank,  at  popular  prices.  And  when  the  walking  grows 
bad,  he  sinks  into  oblivion,  to  reappear  along  with  the 
President's  next  Thanksgiving  proclamation.  Verily, 
the  *  turkey  actor  '  is  a  great  institution." 


* 
* 


"One  of  the  boys  was  telling  me,  the  other  day,"  said 
the  Night  Clerk,  "  of  an  experience  that  Ned  Thorne 
had  with  his  play,  'The  Black  Flag,'  last  summer.  He 
had  collected  around  him  a  small  company,  and  was 
engaged  in  putting  in  a  portion  of  the  hot  spell  in  trav 
eling  over  the  coast  circuit  and  entertaining  the  people 
of  seaside  summer  resorts.  One  night,  they  reached 
Red  Bank,  N.  J.,  and  played  in  a  remodeled  roller- 
skating  rink,  which  had  numerous  windows  on  all  sides. 
In  the  middle  of  the  second  act,  the  fire-bell  over  in 
Asbury  Park  sounded  an  alarm,  and  the  people  who 
composed  the  small  audience  of  some  thirty  or  forty 
began  tip-toeing  out  to  see  the  blaze.  At  this,  Ned 
stopped  the  performance,  stepped  to  the  foot-lights,  and 
said:  'Ladies  and  gentlemen,  don't  be  alarmed;  there 
is  a  window  for  each  one  of  you.'  " 


THE    THANKSGIVING    BIRD.  103 

"  It  is  said  that  every  household  has  its  skeleton  in  the 
closet,"  remarked  the  Counsellor,  "  and  our  establishment 
here  appears  to  be  no  exception  to  that  rule,  though  our 
skeleton  is  not  in  the  closet,  as  it  should  be,  but  right 
out  on  the  lunch-counter;"  and  he  gazed  pensively  at 
the  bony  architecture  composing  all  that  remained 
mortal  of  a  once  proud  gobbler.  "That  *turk,'"he 
went  on,  "  has  long  outlived  its  usefulness,  and  if  the 
Proprietor  were  to  do  what  is  right,  he  would  lose  no 
time  in  filing  away,  in  the  lowest  pigeon-hole  of  his  ash- 
barrel,  that  awful  wreck  of  what  was,  on  Thanksgiving 
morning,  an  alluring  bait  for  the  epicures  who  demol 
ished  it.  The  feature  of  the  Proprietor's  Thanksgiving 
lunch,  by  the  way,  was  an  immense  platter  of  spaghetti. 
In  the  successful  consumption  of  this  Italian  fruit  a 
man  requires  an  iron  nerve,  an  unerring  aim,  and  a  fork 
with  a  far-reaching  and  all-absorbing  tine.  To  a  mud 
dled  individual  with  a  common,  every-day  fork,  spaghetti 
is  by  all  odds  the  most  elusive  food  in  the  Home  Cook- 
Book.  He  toys  with  a  spear  of  it,  carefully  balances  it 
upon  his  German-silver  prodder,  and  starts  it  toward  his 
anxious  mouth,  only  to  see  it  uncoil  its  slimy  folds  and 
flop  back  into  its  native  element.  It  was  a  bright  idea 
of  the  Proprietor,  that  dish,  because  it  lasted  so  long. 
Made  his  afternoon  and  evening  customers  nervous, 

though,  and  hurt  his  bar-trade  somewhat." 

*  * 
* 

"  That  Steve  Richardson,  who  gave  me  the  hidden  photo 
of  Mike  Kelly,"  put  in  the  Agent,  "  is  the  man  with  the 
copper-toed  voice  who  uses  it  to  dilate  upon  the  merits 
of  the  artists  in  the  dime  museum  stage  performances. 
He  was  telling  me  the  other  day  how  the  craze  for 
fame  before  the  foot-lights  affected  some  of  his  stage 
hands.  One  of  these  is  a  husky  young  German  called 


104  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

Fritz,  who  heard  of  the  museum's  offer  of  $  1,000  to  any 
man  who  could  equal  Herr  Dodretti's  feat  of  raising 
a  live  horse  with  his  teeth,  and  who  secretly  resolved  to 
go  into  training  for  the  prize.  At  the  museum,  last  week, 
were  the  two  strong  men,  Samson  and  Hercules,  whose 
crowning  achievement  was  the  lifting  of  a  three-hundred- 
pound  dumb-bell.  If  you  have  ever  dallied  with  a  dumb 
bell  of  this  growth,  you  will  admit  its  sedentary  habits. 
Well,  during  a  performance  once,  and  while  Steve  was  on 
the  stage  engaged  in  oratorically  paving  the  way  for  a 
serio-comic  singer,  he  was  startled  by  a  frightful  crash,  and 
he  ran  behind  the  scenes  to  see  what  was  up.  He  found 
something  down  instead.  It  was  Fritz.  In  juggling  with 
the  mastodon  dumb-bell  he  had  inadvertently  allowed  it  to 
fall  across  his  neck,  and  there  he  reclined,  with  his  eyes 
popping  out  of  his  head,  his  tongue  directed  toward  the 
zenith,  and  his  arms  and  legs  gyrating  wildly.  Steve 
attempted  to  lift  the  mass  of  iron,  but  only  succeeded  in 
getting  it  up  far  enough  to  drop  back  on  poor  Fritz's 
neck.  Then  a  pair  of  song  and  dance  men  lent  four 
hands,  but  it  would  not  budge,  in  spite  of  their  great  repu 
tation  as  budgers.  Finally,  Steve  had  to  send  down  to  the 
dressing-rooms  for  Samson  and  Hercules,  who  were 
playing  checkers  for  the  prospective  beer,  and  Fritz  was 
taken  out  of  bondage.  He  is  still  stuck  on  the  show 
business,  and  the  manager  says  that,  if  the  crease  on  his 
neck  does  not  fade  out,  he  will  dress  him  up  as  a  cow-boy 
and  bill  him  as  Arizona  Jim,  who  had  been  lynched  in 
New  Mexico  for  lifting  horses  without  the  aid  of  his 

teeth." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  see  that  Captain  Anson  is  to  open  a  racquet  court 
here,"  remarked  the  Actor.  "  What's  that?  No,  I  mean 
an  entirely  different  sort  of  a  racquet.  This  is  a  sort  of  a 


CAPTATN    ANSON'S    RACQUET    COURT.  105 

society  game.  That  will  let  the  Manager  out,  as  he  is 
not  a  society  duck.  He  thinks  he  is,  though.  But  I 
remember  of  his  going  to  a  wedding  last  winter,  and  he 
handed  his  invitation  to  the  Senegambian  who  was  '  on 
the  door,'  saying,  '  How's  the  house?'  and  bowing  him 
self  in.  When  he  went  out  to  make  a  bluff  call  for  his 
carriage  he  said,  '  I  don't  need  a  check,  do  I  ? '  That's 
the  kind  of  a  society  duck  he  is.  There  goes  that  elec 
tric  light  again.  Guess  we'd  better  adjourn;"  and  the 
Club  filed  out,  softly  singing,  "  We're  Going  Home  to 
Dy-na-mo." 


XI. 


MISFORTUNES  OF  THE  REPORTER — He  Tells  His  Fellow  Members  of 
His  Extreme  Hard  Luck — An  Awful  Record — Mark  Sullivan's 
Name — Charlie  Gardner's  Serio-Comic  Singer — "Yank"  Adams 
Bunkoes  Billy  Rice — Jack  Moynihan's  Casket  for  "Camille" — 
Ned  Kohl  and  the  Double-Headed  Girl — Frank  Lane  and  the 
Elks— George  Schiller  Plays  "  Black  Donald." 

It  was  the  Reporter  who  was  in  the  very  midst  of  a  sad 
state  of  unrest  wheri  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club 
tiptoed  into  the  Usual  Resort  last  evening.  He  stated 
that  he  had  been  in  his  customary  hard  luck.  At  a  recent 
interesting  evening  session  at  draw  poker  he  had  been 
sadly  worsted  in  two  successive  jack-pots  of  goodly  pro 
portions,  and  only  that  day  he  had  declined  to  take  out 
an  accident  policy  in  a  company  which  guaranteed 
$2,500  for  the  loss  of  two  hands.  Had  he  accepted  the 
insurance  agent's  tempting  offer  before  the  session,  he 
would  have  quit  more  than  even.  This  was  but  one 
instance  of  the  manner  in  which  a  cruel  fate  awarded 
him  that  discouraging  experience  ycleped  u  the  razzle- 
dazzle."  He  said  he  would  be  perfectly  willing  to  bet 
that  if  he  had  been  the  jail  barber  last  Thursday,  the 
suicided  anarchist,  Louis  Lingg,  would  have  applied  to 
him  for  a  dry  shampoo  while  the  dynamite  cartridge  was 
concealed  in  his  hair.  His  wife  had  been  told  by  the 
milkman,  the  Reporter  went  on,  that  the  anarchist  had 
departed  this  life  through  the  agency  of  a  cigarette  rolled 
with  dynamite,  and  when  he  reached  home  she  began  to 
lecture  him  on  the  evil  consequences  of  the  awful  cigar 
ette  habit.  That  was  her  one  great  weakness,  he  said. 

(107) 


108  THE    TURNOVER   CLUB. 

If  he  incautiously  complained  of  a  ferocious  corn,  or 
found  fault  because  there  was  a  button  off  of  his  shirt, 
she  always  declared  that  it  was  due  to  cigarette-smoking. 
All  this  did  not  appear  to  terrify  the  Reporter,  though,  for 
while  he  was  telling  of  it  he  ignited  one  of  those  vicious 
little  paper  pipes,  and  calmly  allowed  the  deadly  nicotine 
to  chip  away  at  what  was  remaining  of  his  left  lung. 


* 
* 


"You  know  Mark  Sullivan,  of  Hoyt's  '  Rag  Baby' 
Company,  don't  you  ?  "  queried  the  Agent.  "  Plays  the 
Irish  policeman.  Well,  several  times  last  season,  when 
Frank  Daniels  was  sick,  Mark  was  called  upon  to  play 
'Old  Sport.'  He's  a  clever  comedian,  and  he  did  it 
remarkably  well.  When  Daniels  seceded,  this  season, 
Mark  approached  Hoyt  and  asked  for  a  show  to  play  the 
part.  '  I  have  already  played  it,'  he  said,  *  and  the  audi 
ences  did  not  ask  to  have  their  money  refunded.'  Mr. 
Hoyt  said  he  granted  that,  but  the  fact  was  he  did  not 
fancy  the  name  of  Sullivan  as  a  star.  '  What's  the  matter 
with  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  ? '  asked  Mark,  hotly,  and  as 
Hoyt  could  not  answer  that  argument,  he  walked  away. 
His  speaking  of  names,  however,  reminds  me  of  the 
expedient  of  Charlie  Davis,  a  brother  of  poor  'Jumbo' 
Davis,  who  used  to  travel  in  advance  of  the  Forepaugh 
show.  The  incident  happened  in  the  days  before  the  Inter- 
State  Commerce  Bill  reared  its  awful  head  and  crushed 
out  theatrical  railroad  passes.  Davis,  who  has  a  slight 
impediment  in  his  speech,  had  to  carry  many  heavy  bill 
trunks,  which  called  for  large  amounts  in  the  way  of 
extra  baggage,  so  he  figured  to  shut  off  this  drain.  He 
was  traveling  through  the  South  at  the  time,  and  the 
accommodating  passenger  agents  down  in  that  country 
made  his  passes  read,  *  Pass  Charles  Davis  and  bill 
boxes.'  He  could  not  get  a  pass  for  his  assistant,  how- 


CHARLIE  GARDNER'S  SERIO-COMIC  SINGER.        109 

ever,  so  when  a  train  conductor  would  approach  the  pair 
anal  ask  for  tickets,  Charlie  would  hand  out  the  pass  and 
say:  'I  am  Charles  D-d-davis,  and  th-this  is  B-b-bill 
B-b-boxes,'  pointing  to  his  assistant.  It  worked  like 
a  charm,  and  this  same  assistant,  who  is  now  ahead  of 
a  minstrel  show,  has  been  known  ever  since  as  Bill 
Boxes." 


* 

* 


"  Charlie  Gardner,  the  German  comedian,  is  rehearsing 
his  company  here  this  week,"  said  the  Actor.  "  I  hap 
pened  to  run  across  him  the  other  day,  and  he  told  me  a 
story  of  a  certain  young  serio-comic  singer  who  had 
ambition.  She  desired  to  elevate  the  tone  of  her  act,  and 
sing  pathetic  ballads.  Well,  the  management  allowed 
her  to  do  so,  and  she  started  in  on  her  new  career  by 
warbling  that  delicious  morceau,  '  Close  the  Shutters, 
Willie's  Dead.'  She  had  no  time  to  procure  appropriate 
wardrobe,  so  she  went  on  in  her  serio-comic  togs — short 
dress  and  the  traditional  fan  hanging  from  a  ribbon 
at  her  waist.  The  ballad  went  very  well,  and  she  secured 
a  big  reception.  This  so  elated  her  that  in  the  last 
chorus  she  forgot  herself,  and  thought  only  of  the  old 
days.  Grabbing  her  fan,  she  shot  it  open  with  a  bang, 
assumed  a  marching  step  in  quick  time,  and  minced 
across  the  stage,  singing  *  Close  the  Shutters,  Willie's 
Dead,'  to  a  very  lively  tune.  The  effect  may  be  imagined. 
The  next  day  the  managers  informed  her  that  she  had 
better  go  back  to  straight  serio-comic  business.  One  of 
Gardner's  orchestra,  by  the  way,"  resumed  the  Actor, 
*'  went  to  Charlie  early  last  season,  when  they  were  out 
on  the  road,  and  said  that  as  he  had  not  sent  any  money 
home  to  his  wife,  he  desired  to  send  her  something. 
'Well,  my  boy,'  said  Charlie,  'send  her  the  route  and  the 
programme.' " 


110  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  Did  any  of  you  hear  how  Billy  Rice,  '  Hoochy- 
Coochy,'  was  bunkoed  by  '  Yank'  Adams,  out  in  Denver, 
last  week  ?"  asked  the  Agent.  "Well,  it  appears  that 
'  Yank '  was  out  there  on  business,  and  he  ran  across 
Billy,  who  was  with  Thatcher,  Primrose  &  West's  Min 
strels.  On  the  first  night  of  the  performance,  Rice 
exploited  his  old,  moss-covered  gag  about  the  bottom 
falling  out  of  his  hack  while  he  was  out  riding  and  his 
being  obliged  to  run  eight  miles  inside  of  the  vehicle  in 
consequence.  On  this  particular  occasion  he  told  that 
his  trip  had  been  made  from  the  Rosedale  lots — a  new 
suburban  resort  of  Denver  which  was  being  heavily  adver 
tised  there  at  the  time.  The  next  morning  the  owner  of 
these  lots  went  around  to  the  hotel  to  see  if  he  could 
not  induce  Rice  to  use  the  name  of  his  resort  in  the  story 
all  through  the  week,  and  in  front  of  the  caravansary 
he  came  upon  '  Yank,'  who  sported  a  striped  shirt,  a  big 
diamond,  and  a  plug  hat.  '  One  of  the  minstrels  ? ' 
queried  the  lot-owner,  approaching  him.  '  Yes,'  replied 
Adams,  coolly,  'I'm  the  manager.'  Then  the  man 
inquired  how  much  it  would  cost  him  to  have  Billy  Rice 
advertise  his  lots  during  the  week.  'I  was  just  going 
around  to  see  you  about  that/  said  'Yank.'  '  We  always 
do  that.  It  will  cost  you  $100.'  This  was  too  much, 
and  they  finally  compromised  on  $50 — $25  down,  and 
the  balance  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  '  Yank  '  pocketed 
$25.  Meeting  Rice  at  breakfast,  'Yank'  told  him  that 
the  owner  of  the  Rosedale  lots  was  a  cousin  of  his,  and 
had  been  greatly  pleased  at  their  mention.  Billy  said 
he  was  very  glad  of  it,  and  to  oblige  '  Yank's'  cousin  he 
would  use  the 'gag'  all  week.  This  he  did  faithfully, 
and 'Yank '  drew  the  other  $25  on  time,  earning  his 
hotel-bill.  To  this  day,  Billy  Rice  does  not  know  that 
he  worked  all  of  one  week  for  'Yank'  Adams." 


JACK  MOYNIHAN'S  CASKET  FOR  "CAMILLE."      Ill 

"  The  other  day,"  put  in  the  Manager,  "Jack  Moynihan 
was  telling  me  of  a  funny  experience  he  had  once  in 
Champaign,  Illinois,  with  a  company  playing  in  that  little 
town.  The  star  of  this  troupe  was  Josie  Crocker,  a 
favorite  in  Chicago  in  the  old  museum  days,  and  Jack 
was  the  stage-manager.  It  was  a  small  company,  and 
they  played  a  full  week  in  little  towns,  changing  the  bill 
nightly.  In  Champaign,  on  Saturday  night,  Jack  went 
up  to  the  theater  to  see  that  everything  was  in  readiness 
for  the  announced  performance  of  '  Camille '  that  evening. 
When  he  went  upon  the  stage,  his  eyes  were  riveted  by  a 
ghastly  sight.  Against  the  wall  stood  a  large  coffin,  with 
white  satin  linings  and  silver  mountings.  Hastily  sum 
moning  the  property-man,  Jack  demanded  to  know 
what  this  meant.  '  Why,  you  told  me  to  get  it,'  was  the 
startling  reply.  'Told  you  to  get  it?'  wonderingly 
queried  the  dumbfounded  Moynihan.  'Yes,  you  told 
me  to  get  a  "  casket  "  for  the  last  act  of  "  Camille."  ' 
When  the  astonished  stage-manager  regained  his  breath, 
he  told  the  property-man  that  what  he  meant  was  a 
casket  for  Camille  s  jewels." 


* 

* 


"  I  met  Ned  Kohl,  of  Kohl  &  Middleton,  the  museum 
men,  the  other  afternoon,"  said  the  Actor,  "and  he  told 
me  that  he  had  just  returned  from  Cincinnati,  whither 
he  had  been  called  by  an  urgent  telegram.  You  know 
these  museum  men  own  a  place  in  Cincinnati  also,  and 
the  telegram  was  an  appeal  from  their  local  manager  for 
Kohl  to  come  down  there  at  once,  as  there  was  trouble. 
When  he  arrived,  he  said  he  found  that  the  landlord  of 
the  Gibson  House  had  insisted  upon  charging  double 
rates  for  Millie  Christine,  the  two-headed  colored  girl 
who  was  playing  with  them  there.  Ned  claimed  that  she 
was  only  one  person,  and  should  be  charged  for  as  such, 


THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

but  the  landlord  insisted  that  she  had  two  mouths  to  feed, 
and  that  she  ate  as  much  as  any  two  of  his  guests.  Kohl 
replied  that  this  was  all  bosh,  as  the  girls  had  only  one 
stomach  between  them,  and  he  did  not  propose  to  be  rob 
bed.  It  was  finally  arranged  that  they  should  be  charged 
one  and  one-half  fare  for  the  round  trip,  and  then 
Kohl  hastened  back  here  to  Chicago  to  make  an  agreed 

hotel  rate  for  the  twins,  who  come  here  next  week." 

*  * 
* 

"  Frank  Lane,  of  John  T.  Raymond's  company,  was 
telling  yesterday  of  an  Elks'  social  session  which  he 
attended  in  the  East,"  remarked  the  Professor.  "  It 
was  to  be  quite  an  affair,  and  Frank  Moran,  the  well- 
known  minstrel  man,  came  many  miles  to  preside.  He 
makes  an  inimitable  chairman  on  such  occasions,  and 
this  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  He  announced  each 
number  on  the  programme  with  some  witty  remark,  and 
finally  he  said:  'We  come  now  to  one  whom  we  may 
aptly  term  our  "chestnut  brother,"  he  being  old  enough 
to  be  the  grandfather  of  anyone  here;  he  will  give  us  a 
recitation.'  The  brother  referred  to  arose  and  stated 
that  if  he  was  the  '  chestnut  brother '  he  would  recite  a 
'chestnut' — 'The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade.'  For 
the  benefit  of  those  who  had  never  heard  it,  he  first 
explained  that  of  the  gallant  *  six  hundred '  who  went 
into  the  fight,  but  sixty  came  out  of  it  alive.  Then  he 
recited  the  poem  in  a  stirring  manner  that  called  forth 
enthusiastic  and  prolonged  applause.  Finally,  Chairman 

Moran  rapped  for  order  and  said:  'Brother  ,  there 

appears  to  be  a  general  desire  on  the  part  of  the  brethren 

present  that  you  kill  that  other  sixty! '  " 

*  * 
* 

"Our  friend  George  Schiller,  of  the  'Evangeline' 
company,  has  been  a  real  theater  actor  for  a  long  time," 


GEORGE    SCHILLER    PLAYS    "BLACK    DONALD."       113 

said  the  Manager,  "  but  it  is  only  lately  that  he  has 
taken  to  burlesque.  He  used  to  be  in  the  legitimate, 
where  he  played  heavy  parts,  though  if  you'd  ever  see 
him  on  the  scales  you'd  never  think  that.  Yes,  I  remem 
ber  that  one  season  he  was  doing  the  '  leading  heavies ' 
with  Weird  &  Awful's  Barn-stormers,  traveling  through 
territory  where  lynch-law  was  frowned  upon  by  enlight 
ened  communities  of  the  '  one-night-stand  '  order.  Our 
fellow  townsman,  William  Ananias  McConnell,  was  also  a 
member  of  the  company,  playing  the  '  leading  juveniles  ' 
and  the  hotels.  The  repertoire  of  the  company  consisted 
of  'The  Hidden  Hand,'  '  Hamlet,'  'She  Stoops  to  Con 
quer,'  '  Frost  Bitten  '  (from  which  '  Storm  Beaten '  was  pla 
giarized),  and  '  Pajamas.'  The  management  endeavored 
to  induce  John  L.  Sullivan  to  appear  in  his  master-piece, 
'A  Scrap  on  Paper,'  but  he  refused.  Salary  did  not 
stand  in  the  way,  as  there  wasn't  enough  of  it,  but  he 
declined  to  go  into  training  for  the  company's  long 
jumps.  Well,  the  troupe  struck  Michigan,  and  stopped 
at  Muskallonge  to  present  'The  Hidden  Hand.'  It  had 
not  been  presented  there  since  a  Chicago  gambler  had 
been  shot  for  doing  it,  six  years  before.  Schiller  played 
Black  Donald,  the  wicked  villain  of  the  piece,  and  ^iis 
*  make-up  '  was  something  frightful.  His  countenance 
resembled  the  collar  of  an  astrakhan  coat.  Owing  to 
the  fact  that  there  were  no  town-halls  in  some  of  the 
places  the  company  paused  at,  the  company  carried  its 
own  opera-house  and  played  under  canvas.  As  the 
stage  was  but  thirteen  inches  from  the  ground,  and  Black 
Donald  had  to  fall  through  a  trap,  it  was  necessary  for 
Schiller  to  hire  the  village  sexton  to  dig  below  the  trap 
a  hole  large  enough  for  his  complete  concealment  when 
he  fell  through  it.  Schiller  and  McConnell  roomed 
together,  and  the  day  they  played  in  Muskallonge,  Schil- 

8 


114  THE    TURNOVER    GLUB. 

ler  arose  in  the  morning  first,  thereby  securing  the  vest. 
This  naturally  piqued  McConnell.  He  hastily  swallowed 
his  supper  that  night  and  hurried  over  to  the  tent.  No 
one  was  inside  excepting  the  property-man,  who  was 
engaged  in  filling  the  foot-lights  with  kerosene,  and  Will 
swore  him  to  secrecy  over  a  bad  cigar.  Then  he  went 
outside  and  readily  recognized  two  of  the  village  *  kids,' 
who  are  always  eager  and  willing  to  carry  water  for  the 
elephant  when  the  circus  comes  to  town.  He  promised 
them  two  tickets  tu  the  show,  and  thus  induced  them  to 
fill  up  Black  Donalds  pit  with  water  from  the  town- 
pump.  The  performance  went  along  smoothly  until  it 
came  the  heavy  villain's  time  to  fall  through  the  trap: 
There  was  a  splash,  a  gurgling  outcry,  and  the  water 
flew  in  all  directions.  'Let  him  alone! '  yelled  McCon 
nell  from  the  wings.  '  He's  got  to  come  up  three  times! ' 
But  the  curtain  was  rung  down,  and  Black  Donald  was 
wrung  out.  '  Well,  McConnell  didn't  make  much  out  of 
it,'  said  Schiller,  when  the  story  was  told  on  him  the 
other  day, '  for  it  ruined  the  vest,  and  neither  of  us  could 
wear  it  after  that — it  was  too  small  for  Commodore 

Nutt!'" 

*  * 

4  * 

"  Supper  is  now  ready  in  the  imperial  palace  dining- 
car!  "  shouted  the  Purveyor,  as  he  threw  open  both  lids 
of  the  cracker  and  cheese  casket  and  pushed  the  dish  of 
olives  toward  the  members.  Some  time  was  consumed 
in  the  discussion  of  these  viands,  after  which  the  Pur 
veyor  turned  off  the  gas,  made  a  record  of  the  state  of 
the  meter,  and  closed  up. 


XII. 


THE  AGENT  BREAKS  His  PROMISE— He  Sorely  Disappoints  His  Fel 
low  Members  by  Fracturing  His  Pledge — A  Royal  "  Toot" — Al 
Johnson  in  England — Bill  Hoey's  Patriotism — Billy  Crane's 
Yachting  Trips — Bill  Daniels'  Indians — Bob  Downing  in  Train 
ing — John  Neumeister's  Foot- Race — Warren  Leland  on  a  Tobog 
gan — A  Loaded  Cigar. 

When  the  Turnover  Club  assembled  at  the  Usual 
Resort  last  evening,  the  members  resolved  to  wear  the 
customary  badge  of  mourning  on  the  left  arm  for  a 
period  of  thirty  days.  It  appeared  that  the  Agent  had, 
during  the  week,  fractured  the  solemn  pledge  he  had 
registered,  by  spending  some  three  days  and  nights 
in  what  is  variously  termed  a  "  toot  "  in  musical  circles, 
a  "  bat "  among  ball-players,  and  a  "time"  by  the 
public  at  large.  On  Friday  evening,  his  remains  had 
been  turned  over  to  the  Proprietor,  who  is  Grand 
Pronged  Horn  in  the  Chicago  Lodge  of  Elks,  and  he 
accomplished  the  difficult  task  of  bringing  him  to. 
When  he  discovered  his  whereabouts,  he  strenuously 
insisted  on  loading  up  again;  but  the  Grand  Pronged 
Horn — always  true  to  the  sacred  trust  reposed  in  him— 
told  the  Purveyor  not  to  fill  his  order.  A  compromise 
was  finally  effected  by  the  two  indulging  in  seltzer  lem 
onades,  in  payment  for  which  the  Agent  tendered  a 
silver  dollar  and  directed  the  Purveyor  to  punch  out  two 
drinks,  as  it  was  a  commutation  coin.  In  consequence 
of  his  extended  debauch,  the  "  advance  announcer  "  was 
in  possession  of  a  very  able  breath — one  of  those  respi 
rations  which  carves  its  initials  upon  the  bark  of  the 


116  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

great  oak  Memory,  and  when  once  fully  realized  can 
never  be  forgotten.  A  clove  had  no  more  effect  upon  it 
than  has  a  drop  of  pure  water  upon  the  stalwart  bosom 
of  Chicago's  beautiful  river,  and  a  cassia-bud  was  to  it  as 
the  perfume  of  a  single  Eastern  lily  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  Union  Stock  Yards.  Whatever  might  have  been 
said  about  that  breath,  it  was  very  certain  that  "  the 
flowers  that  bloom  in  the  spring,  tra-la,  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  case."  And  this  was  the  reason  why  the  Agent 

was  in  bad  odor  when  the  Club  assembled  last  evening. 

*  * 

* 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  Al  Johnson,  of  Cleveland  ?  " 
queried  the  Manager.  "  No  ?  Well,  then,  half  of  your 
life  has  been  a  perfect  blank.  He's  a  jolly  good  fellow, 
and  he  has  just  returned  from  'the  other  side,'  whither 
he  went  with  his  friends  *  Doc  '  Beeman  and  Will  Hoey,  of 
Evans  and  Hoey,  the  comedians.  While  in  London,  the 
trio  visited  the  Alhambra,  and  witnessed  the  magnificent 
'  Ballet  of  All  Nations'  which  is  being  presented  there. 
They  enjoyed  the  spectacle  hugely;  but  when  the  bevy 
of  pretty  girls  tripped  out  upon  the  stage  bearing  the 
American  flag,  the  trio  arose  as  one  man  and  howled  in 
chorus.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Al  Johnson  had  been 
overcome  by  patriotism,  but  he  shouted  until  he  was 
black  in  the  face;  and  Will  Hoey  stood  up  alongside 
of  him  and  yelled,  at  the  top  of  his  voice:  '  There  she  is; 
God  bless  her  !  Here's  to  America,  the  land  of  the  free; 
the  home  of  Al  Johnson,  Doc  Beeman,  and  me  ! '  You 
can  just  imagine  the  effect  of  this  on  an  English  audi 
ence.  Johnson  tells  this,  and  he  also  tells  a  story  Hoey 
relates  on  one  of  his  *  down  East '  neighbors,  to  illustrate 
the  generosity  of  some  of  those  thrifty  'Yanks.'  A 
woman  went  out  into  her  front  yard  and  saw  a  tramp, 
ragged  and  dirty,  down  on  his  knees  eating  the  grass  on 


BILLY  CRANE'S  YACHTING  TRIPS.  117 

the  lawn.  She  asked  him  if  he  was  really  as  hungry  as  all 
that,  and  when  he  sadly  replied  that  he  really  was,  she 
said,  compassionately:  '  Poor  fellow;  come  around  in  the 
back  yard — the  grass  is  much  longer  there.' " 


#  * 
* 


"  Billy  Crane,  the  comedian,  is  here  this  week,"  put  in 
the  Actor,  "  and  he  is  looking  remarkably  well  ;  though 
it  is  a  fact  that  he  has  lost  nineteen  pounds  since  he 
began  to  play  Falstaff.  The  big  stomach-pad  which  he 
wears  weighs  about  a  ton,  and  he  is  obliged  to  have  it  sent 
to  the  hotel  every  day  to  have  the  perspiration  dried  out 
of  it.  Why,  at  the  end  of  each  performance  he  finds  that 
the  perspiration  has  soaked  through  his  heavy  russet 
boots.  If  anyone  earns  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his 
brow,  I  think  Crane  does.  But  then  he  makes  it  all  up 
during  the  summer  vacation.  He  and  his  partner  in 
crime,  Robson,  have  houses  in  the  theatrical  colony  at 
Cohasset,  Massachusetts,  on  the  seashore,  and  he  enjoys 
life  there  on  his  yacht,  the  '  Viff.'  His  old  skipper  is  a 
great  character,  and  can  do  anything  on  shipboard,  from 
guiding  a  rudder  to  cooking.  One  day,  while  on  a  cruise 
along  the  shore,  the  yacht  went  aground,  and  the  skip 
per  set  about  getting  her  off  by  securing  a  good 
purchase  with  the  hauling  away.  So  he  went  forward, 
grabbed  a  portion  of  the  rigging,  and  threw  the  anchor 
ahead  with  a  mighty  heave.  Just  as  he  threw,  the  rig 
ging  parted,  and,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  the 
skipper  neglected  to  let  go  of  the  anchor;  so  he  brought 
up  at  the  bottom  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  He  had  just 
reached  the  surface  and  pulled  himself  aboard  of  the 
yacht  again,  when  he  discovered  floating  upon  the  sur 
face  of  the  water,  near  by,  the  good  cigar  which  he  had 
lighted  just  before  he  fell  overboard.  As  he  reached 
over  to  get  it,  his  foot  slipped  and  he  slid  into  the  drink 


118  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

again.  Then  he  said  they  had  better  anchor  the  yacht 
and  wait  for  the  next  tide;  so  he  calmly  rolled  up  his 
pants,  tucked  the  anchor  under  his  arm,  and  waded  out 
until  he  found  a  spot  where  it  could  'catch  on.'  All  of 
this  time  Mr.  Crane  and  his  guests  were  rolling  about 

the  deck  of  the  yacht  in  convulsions  of  merriment." 

#  * 
* 

"  I  was  informed  recently,  on  the  very  best  of  author 
ity,"  said  the  Counsellor,  "  that  our  young  cigar  friend, 
William  Y.  Daniels,  was  about  to  indulge  in  a  well-earned 
vacation.  A  friend  was  urging  him  to  accompany  him 
to  the  wild  and  woolly  West  on  a  pleasure-trip.  At  first, 
William  declared  that  he  would  not  go,  under  any  cir 
cumstances.  'But  think  of  it,  Bill,'  put  in  his  friend; 
'you  can  hunt  Indians  !  '  'I  haven't  lost  any  Indians,' 
responded  William;  but  he  had.  About  a  year  ago,  Mr. 
Daniels  purchased  a  lignum-vitae  savage  with  a  toma 
hawk  in  one  hand  and  a  bunch  of  Waterbury  cigars  in 
the  other,  and  perched  him  just  outside  the  door  of  his 
fine-cut  emporium.  The  next  morning  the  Indian  had 
disappeared.  Nothing  daunted,  Mr.  Daniels  went  out  to 
the  reservation,  on  Clybourne  avenue,  and  secured  a 
duplicate  savage;  but  the  kidnaper  took  him,  also,  a  night 
or  two  later.  This  was  getting  pretty  tiresome;  but  Mr. 
Daniels  drew  another  card,  and  this  time  he  had  his 
bogus  noble  red  man  firmly  spiked  to  the  stone  sidewalk. 
There  he  remained  until  the  elements  had  made  him  look 
a  little  careworn;  and  one  day  a  man  came  along  and 
offered  to  regild  the  untutored  savage  for  a  consideration 
of  ten  dollars.  To  this  proposition  Mr.  Daniels  con 
sented,  and  the  figure  was  carted  away.  He  has  not  seen 
the  third  Indian  from  that  day  to  this;  and  now  he  is 
disgusted  with  the  aborigines,  and  will  not  even  go  to  a 
Wild  West  show." 


BOB    DOWNING    IN    TRAINING. 


119 


"  Frank  Lane,  of  Robert  Downing's  company,  thinks 
that  Chicago  is  one  of  the  greatest  summer  resorts  on 
earth,"  said  the  Night  Clerk.  "  Since  he  has  been  here 
he  has  wilted,  on  an  average,  eight  collars  per  day,  in 
consequence  of  which  he  has  vainly  endeavored  to  obtain 
professional  rates  at  a  laundry.  You  are  of  course  aware 
that  he  hovers  in  the  neighborhood  of  two  hundred  avoir 
dupois,  and  he  declared  last  week  that  his  avoirdupois 
did  not  have  much  the  best  of  Chicago's  Fahrenheit. 
Frank  is  the  '  understudy '  of  Muldoon,  the  wrestler,  and 
plays  the  Fighting  Gaul  when  <  Mul  '  is  sick.  The  other 
day,  the  two  started  out  in  search  of  a  place  where  they 
could  go  into  training.  Muldoon  intends  to  train  Frank 
down  to  his  fighting  weight,  and  when  he  finds  suitable 
quarters  he  will  observe  the  following  rigid  course  of 
training:  Eleven  A.  M.,  arise  and  push  annunciator  for 
cracked  ice  and  a  hose;  11.30  A.  M.,  breakfast,  consisting 
of  clam  cocktail,  gin  ditto,  and  sour  olives;  twelve  M.,  pur 
chase  one  pool  on  a  short  horse  at  Saratoga;  12.30  p.  M., 
watch  ticker  for  result  of  race;  12.33  P.  M.,  tear  up  pool- 
ticket;  12.50  P.  M.,  another  breakfast  as  before;  two  P.  M., 
watch  the  base-ball  scores  on  the  ticker  and  talk  about 
the  games;  six  P.  M.,  supper,  consisting  of  Welsh  rarebit 
and  hard-boiled  eggs;  eight  P.  M.,take  in  some  show; - 
p.  M.,  all  the  other  places  closed  up;  -  -P.  M.,  go  to  bed. 
Muldoon  thinks  that  this  course  of  training  will  put 
Frank  in  good  condition.  I  wouldn't  wonder  at  all  if 
it  did." 


* 

* 


"Talking  about  training,"  remarked  the  Reporter, 
"  reminds  me  of  a  good  one  I  heard  the  other  day  on 
Johnny  Neumeister,  the  ex-City  Clerk.  He  went  out 
to  the  West  Side  Driving  Park  a  few  days  ago,  with  a 
party  of  friends,  to  see  some  horses  tried;  and  after  the 


THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

trial,  they  were  all  sitting  on  the  club-house  veranda, 
talking  of  sporting  matters  in  general,  when  John  said  he 
would  bet  $20  that  he  could  beat  anyone  in  the  party 
in  a  run  around  the  track.  He  is  considerable  of  an  all- 
round  athlete,  and  at  first  no  one  seemed  disposed  to 
accept  his  challenge;  but  finally  a  gentleman  in  the  party 
produced  a  friend  whom  he  said  was  a  runner,  and 
declared  his  willingness  to  back  him  to  the  extent  of  $20. 
Accordingly,  the  money  was  put  up,  the  men  stripped 
to  the  waist,  and  at  an  agreed  signal  both  darted  off. 
They  ran  together  to  the  half-mile,  where  John's  oppo 
nent  took  the  lead.  John  was  just  a  mite  winded,  and  he 
yelled  to  the  other  man  that  if  he  would  allow  him  to  win 
they  would  divide  the  stakes;  but  the  other  man  paid  no 
attention  to  him.  This  nettled  John,  and  shutting  his 
teeth  hard,  he  muttered,  '  I'll  beat  you  now,  anyway.' 
Down  the  home-stretch  both  men  came  at  a  terrific  pace, 
and  John  finished  a  winner  by  about  three  feet.  When 
he  was  told  subsequently  that  his  opponent  was  deaf  and 
dumb,  he  understood  why  no  attention  was  paid  to  his 
proposition  at  the  half-mile  pole;  and  when  the  mute 
learned  how  he  had  been  approached,  he  wrote  on  his 
cuff  that  he  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  have 
accepted  the  proposition,  if  he  had  heard  it.  John  bought 

the  wine." 

*  * 
* 

"  Speaking  of  languages,"  said  the  Agent,  "do  you 
know  why  Warren  Leland,  the  hotel  man,  has  used  such 
language  against  the  proposed  toboggan-slide  on  the 
lake-front  up  in  his  neighborhood  ?  No  ?  Well,  I'll  tell 
you.  Leland  is  a  man  who  always  sees  all  there  is  to  be 
seen  wherever  he  goes.  Last  winter  he  took  in  the  St. 
Paul  ice  carnival,  and  in  an  evil  moment  he  allowed 
some  of  his  friends  to  persuade  him  to  indulge  in  a  ride 


WARREN    LELAND    ON    A    TOBOGGAN.  121 

on  one  of  the  devices.  He  did  not  have  any  canton  flan 
nel  bathing-suit  or  worsted  cap  to  wear,  but  his  friends 
assured  him  that  made  no  appreciable  difference,  as  per 
sons  not  in  costume  were  allowed  on  the  floor.  When 
they  let  go  of  Leland's  toboggan  on  the  top  of  the  slide, 
there  were  seven  good-sized  men  on  it,  and  Mr.  Leland 
was  pulling  the  stroke-oar.  Someone  gave  '  Gallagher ' 
the  necessary  signal,  and  he  Met  'ergo.'  To  this  day, 
Mr.  Leland  declares,  that  if  he  could  identify  that  man 
Gallagher,  he  would  lick  him  on  sight. 

"  Well,  the  toboggan  began  its  downward  career.  Mr. 
Leland  endeavored  to  catch  breath  enough  to  inquire 
of  the  man  directly  behind  him  at  what  time  they  were 
due  at  Council  Bluffs,  but  he  could  not  do  so.  Then  his 
foot  slipped  down  off  of  the  perch,  and  his  right  pants- 
leg  began  to  scoop  up  snow  at  an  alarming  rate.  Mr. 
Leland  said,  afterward,  that  he  should  not  have  minded 
this  in  the  least  if  the  snow  hadn't  annoyed  the  man 
behind  him  by  blowing  into  his  face  as  it  came  out  of  the 
back  of  his  neck.  When  the  machine  came  to  a  stand 
still,  Mr.  Leland  told  his  friends  that  if  they  didn't  mind 
he  would  walk  over  to  the  Milwaukee  avenue  cars  and 
ride  down-town,  which  he  proceeded  to  do  without  delay. 
And  that  is  the  reason  why  he  kicks  about  having  a 

toboggan-slide  in  his  vicinity." 

*  * 
* 

There  was  a  flash,  a  loud  report,  and  the  Agent  jerked 
the  debris  of  a  shattered  cigar  from  between  his  lips 
and  savagely  cast  it  toward  the  other  extremity  of  the 
bar.  He  was  ghastly  pale,  and  decidedly  angry.  He 
said  that  if  he  knew  who  gave  him  that  loaded  cigar,  he 
would  certainly  perpetrate  an  awful  deed.  The  Pur 
veyor  declared  that  it  was  the  fault  of  the  Agent  himself, 
as  everyone  plainly  saw  him  strike  a  match,  light  the 


THE    TURNOVER   CLUB. 

fuse,  and  subsequently  throw  the  bomb.  The  Agent 
protested  that  it  was  no  laughing  matter,  as  he  had  heart 
disease,  and  the  Reporter,  who  was  about  to  expend  a 
quarter  in  the  entertainment  of  the  members,  wisely 
refrained,  in  fear  that  two  such  severe  shocks  in  succes 
sion  might  hasten  the  end;  so  the  Club  put  on  its  hats 
and  adjourned,  there  being  no  further  business. 


XIII. 

FROM  COMEDY  TO  TRAGEDY — The  Departure  of  the  Comedians  and 
the  Arrival  of  the  Tragedians  Makes  the  Change — New  Faces — 
McConnell  and  McCullough — The  "  Bluff  "  Money  Packages — 
Arthur  Cambridge  and  Mrs.  Langtry— The  Proprietor  and  the 
Mackerel— Jim  Meade's  Broken  Leg — The  Counsellor's  Trick 
Elevator — Frank  Moynihan  in  "Monte  Cristo" — George  Wood's 
Bugler— Digby  Bell's  Ball  Game. 

When  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  answered  to 
roll-call  in  the  Usual  Resort  last  evening,  there  was  a 
noticeable  change  apparent  in  each  one  of  them.  Their 
bearing  was  marked  by  more  dignity,  qui  vive,  bon  mot, 
and  esprit  de  corps.  When  the  Manager  summoned  the 
Purveyor,  he  shouted:  "Come  hither,  slave  !  "  instead 
of  "  Same  as  I  had  before;"  and  the  Reporter  went  out 
to  the  cigar-case,  rapped  sharply  upon  the  glass  with  his 
last  nickel,  and  cried:  "Wrhat  ho,  within  there  !"  Then 
when  the  Proprietor  emerged  and  procured  the  desired 
cigarettes,  the  Reporter  told  him  to  "put  it  on  the  ice." 
The  Agent  scared  the  life  out  of  a  messenger-boy  by 
grabbing  his  coat-collar  and  yelling  in  his  ear,  "  Quick, 
boy — the  message,  the  dispatch  !  "  with  a  very  Butte 
City  Richelieu  expression  of  countenance.  In  fact,  an 
air  of  tragedy  pervaded  the  entire  assemblage.  The 
Agent  explained  this  change  to  the  apparently  mystified 
Counsellor  by  saying  that  "the  comics"  were  about 
to  leave  town,  and  that  they  were  to  be  entertained  for  a 
season  by  "  the  tragics."  The  companies  of  both  Louis 
James  and  Robert  Downing  were  here  rehearsing,  and 
the  stage-carpenters  were  hard  at  work  copper-toeing  the 

(123) 


124  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

scenery.  This  was  why  the  members  deemed  it  only 
fitting  and  proper  to  cast  aside  the  air  of  unseemly 
hilarity  which  had  characterized  the  recent  visit  of  the 
burnt-corkers,  and  don  the  more  appropriate  expression 
of  dignified  woe.  Then  the  members  arranged  them 
selves  at  the  bar  of  the  Purveyor  and  proceeded  to  order 
one  Roman  punch,  one  Grecian  sour,  one  wassail,  and 
three  stirrup-cups,  the  latter  with  very  little  froth.  "  To 
the  health  of  our  king  !  "  cried  the  Actor,  waving  aloft 
one  of  the  stirrup-cups  and  spilling  about  a  gill  of  its 
contents  down  the  Manager's  neck;  but  the  Agent  sadly 
marred  the  effect  of  this  fitting  tragic  illusion  by  remark 
ing,  "  Let  'er  go,  Gallagher,"  as  he  quaffed  his  Roman 

punch. 

*  * 
* 

"  Speaking  of  tragedy  and  tragedians,"  said  the  Actor, 
"  reminds  me  of  a  good  story  on  our  friend  Will  McCon- 
nell.  While  he  was  '  on  the  road  '  once  with  John  McCul- 
lough,  he  arrived  with  the  star  and  company  at  a  certain 
town,  went  up  to  the  best  hotel  in  the  place,  and  affixed 
his  autograph  to  the  register.  When  the  clerk  turned 
the  big  book  around  and  saw  the  signature,  he  was  all 
smiles  at  once,  and  at  his  bidding  seven  bell-boys  made 
a  grab  for  Will's  small  grip.  He  was  shown  up  to  a 
fine  parlor,  with  bath  and  bed-room  off,  on  the  second 
floor,  and  was  soon  comfortably  seated  before  a  cheer 
ful  fire  which  blazed  in  the  grate.  '  They  must  know 
me  here,'  he  mused,  as  he  wondered  just  a  little  at  the 
great  amount  of  attention  shown  him;  and  he  sent 
down  an  invitation  to  the  other  young  men  in  the 
company  to  come  up  and  view  his  elegant  quarters, 
and  put  their  feet  on  the  marble-topped  table.  Pretty 
soon,  the  same  seven  bell-boys  who  had  grabbed  at 
Will's  grip  came  up  and  threw  the  whole  party  out  into 


THE  "BLUFF"  MONEY  PACKAGES.  125 

the  hall,  while  the  head  porter  said  to  McConnell: 
'Why  in  -  -  don't  you  write  your  name  so  that 'a 
man  can  read  it  ?  We  thought  you  were  John  McCul- 


lough! 

*  * 
* 


"  When  McConnell  was  out  in  advance  of  *  Furnished 
Rooms,'  "  put  in  the  Manager,  "  poor  Joe  Gulick  used  to 
send  him  money  packages  to  every  town,  in  order  to  cre 
ate  an  impression  on  the  local  managers.  On  the  outside 
would  be  marked  some  such  amount  as  $480,  while 
inside  would  be  probably  a  ten-dollar  bill  and  some 
newspaper  clippings.  These  '  bluff '  packages  staggered 
the  hotel  men,  though,  and  Will  used  to  come  pretty  near 
owning  the  hotels.  This  company  playing  '  Furnished 
Rooms '  was  one  of  the  companies  then  managed  by 
Joe  Gulick  and  John  Blaisdell.  At  first,  they  were  called 
'Guaranteed  Attractions;'  but  later  on,  when  financial 
troubles  beset  the  management,  they  became  known  as 
'Garnisheed  Attractions.'  Gulick  and  Blaisdell  both  had 
desk-room  up  in  Charlie  McConnell's  office.  When  a 
messenger-boy  would  come  in  with  a  telegram  for  either 
one  of  them,  the  other  would  take  it,  tear  it  open  hur 
riedly,  and  then,  if  it  was  marked  *  Collect,'  he  would 
glance  at  the  envelope  and  say:  *  My  boy,  this  is  a  mis 
take;  I  thought  it  was  for  me,  but  it  is  for  my  partner 
instead.  He  is  out  of  town  just  now.'  And  the  messen 
ger-boy  would  take  the  telegram  back  to  the  office.  In 
this  ingenious  way,  the  two  hard-pressed  managers 
received  and  read  all  of  their  telegrams  without  the 
annoying  accompaniment  of  paying  for  them." 


* 
* 


"  Arthur  Cambridge,  the  dramatic  agent,  is  about  to 
rig  up  a  new  scheme,"  said  the  Actor.  "  Heretofore,  in 
his  agency,  he  has  booked  professionals'  names,  lines  of 


126  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

business,  and  addresses  only.  Now  he  intends  to  write 
their  dimensions  in  the  record.  One  day  last  week  a 
man  rushed  up  into  his  actor-foundry  and  said  that  Mrs. 
Langtry  wanted  a  good  actor,  and  that  she  wanted  him 
right  away,  as  a  rehearsal  was  going  on.  Arthur  recom 
mended  the  best  artist  he  had  in  sight,  and  sent  him 
over  to  the  theater.  He  returned  shortly,  and  in  answer 
to  Colonel  Cambridge's  question,  he  said:  'Well,  I  went 
over  there  and  reported  myself.  She  looked  me  over 
carefully  from  head  to  foot,  and  then  remarked,  "  Oh, 
you'll  never  do  at  all — you  won't  fit  the  costume."  ; 
Arthur  thought  that  if  the  Jersey  Lily  had  wanted  an 
actor  to  fit  a  costume,  she  should  have  at  least  sent  him 
the  chest  measurement  with  the  order.  However,  he 
summoned  another  artist,  who  had  just  returned  from 
playing  Romeos  and  Claudes  in  Janesvilles  and  Topekas, 
and  sent  him  over.  Pretty  soon  he  returned,  beaming 
with  gladsome  smiles,  and  exclaimed,  triumphantly: 
1  Well,  I've  got  an  engagement — I  fit  the  costume.'  And 
Arthur  congratulated  himself  that  he  had  not  yet  got 
down  to  running  a  misfit  actors'  parlors." 


* 
* 


"  Did  you  hear  what  the  Proprietor's  wife  had  to  stand 
from  him  after  he  returned  home  from  our  last  meet 
ing  ?  "  asked  the  Night  Clerk.  "  Well,  you  know  when 
he  left  here  he  was  feeling  pretty  gay,  and  when  he 
struck  the  bed  it  was  not  many  moments  before  he  was 
sound  asleep.  Along  about  one  A.  M.,  his  wife  awoke  him 
by  a  startling  series  of  energetic  punches.  She,  by  the 
by,  is  one  of  those  thrifty  housewives  who  seldom  forgets 
any  detail  of  household  arrangement.  'Charlie,'  she 
said,  'I  do  believe  I  have  forgotten  to  put  that  mackerel 
in  soak.'  The  Proprietor,  suddenly  aroused,  yawned 
lazily,  stretched  himself,  and  drawled  out,  half-asleep, 


JIM  MEADE'S  BROKEN  LEG.  127 

'  Never  mind,  my  dear — I  don't  think  you  could  get 
much  on  it,  anyway.'  When  his  wife  taxed  him  about 
it  the  next  morning,  he  denied  having  made  any  such 

remark." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  see  that  Jim  Meade  is  in  our  midst,"  remarked  the 
Agent.  "  Hear  about  his  accident  in  Philadelphia, 
recently?  No?  Well,  he  hit  a  piece  of  ice  one  day,  and 
when  he  started  to  arise  from  the  sidewalk  he  discovered 
that  a  leg  was  broken.  He  was  conveyed  to  his  room  in 
the  hotel,  and  when  the  doctor  came  in,  he  juggled  with 
the  disabled  member,  said  '  Two  dollars,  please,'  and  told 
Jim  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  remain  horizontal  for  at 
least  three  months.  This  was  cheerful  news  for  him. 
Well,  his  friends  heard  of  his  mishap,  and  every  night 
Harry  Dixey  brought  up  a  party  after  his  show  and 
spent  the  night  with  Jim,  making  him  forget  about  his 
fractured  limb  with  funny  stories.  During  the  day,  he 
used  to  doze  off  occasionally,  but  the  slightest  touch 
would  awaken  him.  One  afternoon,  he  started  up  sud 
denly  out  of  a  refreshing  nap,  and  discovered  a  very 
funereal-looking  man  bending  over  him,  wearing  ghastly 
green  goggles  and  having  in  his  hand  a  tape-measure. 
'What  are  you  doing?'  queried  Jim,  in  a  rather  dazed 
way.  Tm  only  measuring  you  for  a  crutch,'  was  the 
response.  '  Oh,  go  ahead  then,'  was  Jim's  next  remark. 
'  I  thought  you  might  be  sizing  me  up  for  a  coffin;'  and 
then  he  rolled  over,  and  was  soon  sound  asleep  again. 

It  takes  a  good  deal  to  disturb  Jim's  rest." 

*  # 
* 

"  I  went  up  to  call  on  the  Counsellor  the  other  day, 
and  I  am  now  consulting  him  as  to  the  advisability  of 
suing  the  owner  of  his  building  for  damages,"  remarked 
the  Professor.  "  You  know  where  he's  located,  and  his 


128  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

office  is  much  nearer  the  roof  than  the  basement.  I  did 
not  suspect  any  plot,  and  I  went  in  to  take  the  elevator. 
Just  here,  allow  me  to  tell  you  never  to  take  that  eleva 
tor,  unless  someone  hands  it  to  you  on  a  salver.  I 
plunked  the  annunciator,  and  stood  in  front  of  the  wire 
doors  waiting  for  the  cage  to  descend  from  above. 
When  it  arrived,  it  brought  with  it  a  fearful  gust  of 
wind,-  that  took  off  my  new  derby  and  slammed  it 
violently  against  the  opposite  wall.  When  I  recovered 
it,  and  entered  the  waiting  cage,  I  saw  the  young  man 
in  charge  sit  down  upon  a  lever,  and  then  I  certainly 
thought  that  I  was  going  where  I  could  read  the  answer 
in  the  stars  without  any  great  difficulty.  However,  the 
young  man  pulled  out  a  stop  at  the  fourth  floor,  and  I 
escaped.  After  I  had  consulted  the  Counsellor,  I  offered 
to  take  him  out  and  purchase  the  usual  retaining  fee; 
and  together  we  entered  the  cyclone  in  the  elevator 
shaft.  When  the  boy  sat  on  the  lever  again,  I  thought 
the  man  on  the  roof  had  allowed  his  foot  to  slip,  and 
that  we  would  certainly  bore  a  hole  into  the  Western 
Hemisphere  in  our  mad  career.  It  felt,  when  the  cage 
struck  bottom  and  disgorged  us,  as  though  I  had  left 
my  breakfast  up  on  the  third  floor.  Every  tenant  in 
that  building  is  obliged  to  wear  his  hair  a  la  Pompadour, 
as  the  rapid  rides  in  this  awful  elevator  make  it  stand 

on  end.     It's  a  wonder  !  " 

*  * 
* 

"  Frank  Lane  is  still  in  our  midst,  I  see,"  said  the 
Reporter.  "  The  other  day  I  heard  him  talking  to  a 
friend  whose  wife  had  recently  presented  him  with  a  new 
baby.  The  happy  parent  was  praising  the  many  good 
qualities  of  the  infant,  and  he  remarked  that  the  little 
one  had  red  cheeks,  like  his.  '  Not  from  the  same  cause, 
though,'  said  Frank.  '  His  are  from  the  rays  of  the  sun, 


FRANK    MOYNIHAN    IN    "  MONTE    CRISTO."  129 

while  yours  are  from  the  raise  of  the  glass.'     Clever, 

wasn't  it  ?  " 

*  # 
* 

"  Young  Frank  Moynihan  was  telling  me,  the  other 
day,  of  a  recent  experience  he  had  out  on  the  road  with 
a  barn-storming  *  Monte  Cristo  '  company,"  put  in  the 
Proprietor.  "  They  played  around  in  the  cheaper  thea 
ters,  and  one  night  they  appeared  in  a  place  where 
drinks  were  dispensed  in  the  auditorium.  The  man  who 
played  Edmond  Dantes  had  killed  the  first  of  his  three 
enemies,  and  had  shouted  *  One !  '  When  he  slew  his 
vsecond  victim,  he  yelled  'Two  ! '  and  as  a  couple  of  his 
fingers  shot  out  toward  the  audience,  as  an  accompani 
ment  to  the  exclamation,  an  active  German  waiter,  who 
was  vigilantly  patrolling  the  center  aisle,  accepted  it  as 
an  order,  and  cried  *  Zwei ! '  and  a  moment  later  he 
attempted  to  scale  the  foot-lights  and  reach  the  star 

with  two  foaming  beers." 

*  * 

"  This  man  George  H.  Woods,  who  styles  himself  '  The 
Somewhat  Different  Comedian,'  and  who  is  doing  a  mon 
ologue  with  Haverly's  company  this  week,  is  a  clever 
performer,"  remarked  the  Agent.  "  He  is  a  man  of 
superior  education,  too,  having  been  trained  for  the 
priesthood,  and  possesses  a  remarkable  flow  of  language. 
If  you  should  see  him  off  the  stage,  you  would  never 
take  him  for  a  burnt-cork  artist.  The  other  night  I 
met  him,  and  he  was  telling  me  of  a  friend  of  his  who 
had  spent  many  years  of  his  life  as  an  English  cavalry 
trooper.  He  was  an  exceedingly  lazy  man,  and  used 
to  curse  the  blatant  bugler  who  tooted  the  reveille  at 
5.30  A.  M.  daily.  At  the  last  moment  he  would  spring 
from  his  cot,  jump  into  his  uniform,  and  always  appear 
on  the  parade-ground  not  a  moment  too  soon.  For 


130  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

years  he  was  obliged  to  do  this;  but  at  last  a  grandmother 
of  his  died,  leaving  him  a  snug  fortune,  and  he  purchased 
his  discharge.  Then  he  hired  a  cozy  house  on  London's 
outskirts,  furnished  it  comfortably,  and  employed  an 
old,  superannuated  army  bugler  to  come  beneath  his 
window  every  morning  and  sound  the  reveille.  When 
it  reached  the  ear  of  the  retired  trooper,  he  would  arise 
from  his  downy  couch,  glare  out  of  the  casement  at  the 
bugler,  cry,  '  You  go  to ! '  and  then  return  to  his  bed. 

He  was  getting  even  for  years  of  discomfort." 

*  * 
* 

"  Digby  Bell,  the  comic  opera  comedian,  is  a  great 
base-ball  crank,  as  you  all  know,"  said  the  Counsellor. 
"  He  is  a  great  favorite  in  Philadelphia,  and,  when  singing 
there,  is  always  in  demand  as  umpire  for  the  amateur 
games.  One  day  last  summer  he  took  the  usual  chances, 
and,  with  umpire  indicator  in  hand,  he  umpired  a  game 
between  the  Philadelphia  'Fats  '  and  *  Leans.'  The  star 
*  Fat '  was  Charlie  Jackson,  a  local  mammoth,  who  keeps  a 
liquid  grocery  store,  and  it  has  been  said  of  him  that, 
in  all  of  his  business  experience,  he  has  never  once 
walked  home  or  ridden  home  in  a  street-car,  invariably 
going  in  a  cab.  Well,  Jackson  was  finally  assisted  to 
the  bat,  and  through  some  mischance  he  reached  first 
base.  Then  the  'Leans'  began  to  fire  the  ball  all  over 
Philadelphia  and  her  beautiful  suburbs,  and  meantime 
Jackson  toiled  around  to  third  base.  Here  he  was 
grabbed  by  the  rest  of  the  *  Fats '  and  a  cab  was  driven 
onto  the  field.  The  star  '  Fat '  was  pried  into  it  and 
driven  in  triumph  to  the  plate.  'There,'  exclaimed  one 
of  the  '  Fats,'  '  we've  driven  you  home,  Charlie,  because 
we  didn't  want  you  to  break  your  record  ! '  Digby 
declared  that  the  run  was  earned,  and  that  it  was  due 
entirely  to  superior  coaching  on  the  part  of  the  cabby." 


THE  PURVEYOR'S  "CHESTNUT."  131 

"  I  do  hate  most  awfully  to  spring  a  *  chestnut '  on 
this  gathering,"  interrupted  the  Purveyor,  "but  I  feel 
obliged  to  inform  you  all  that  our  closing  hour  is  mid 
night."  So  they  went  around  just  once,  and  then  the  Pro 
prietor  rang  down  the  curtain. 


XIV. 

LITTLE  Miss  PINKERTON — The  Reporter  Tells  How  She  Knocked 
Out  Santa  Glaus  in  One  Round — A  Desperate  Encounter — Ned 
Sothern's  Statue— Kohl  &  Middleton's  Slot  Machine — Frank 
Lane's  Guying — The  Agent  as  a  Mind-Reader — The  Local 
Chorus-Girl  to  the  Fore— A  "Jay"  Among  the  Freaks — Frank- 
Lincoln's  Mistake — A  Successful  Test. 

When  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  met  in  the 
Usual  Resort  last  evening,  the  Reporter  was  besieged 
with  questions  as  to  the  result  of  the  glove  fight  between 
Santa  Glaus  and  his  little  daughter,  which  he  had  left  the 
last  meeting  to  attend,  in  the  capacity  of  referee  and 
time-keeper.  He  said  that  the  fight  had  been  to  a  finish; 
that  there  had  been  nothing  in  the  way  of  a  "draw" 
about,  it,  and  that  Kriss  Kringle  had  been  "  bested  "  in 
great  shape  by  his  champion  feather-weight.  He  not 
only  threw  up  the  sponge,  but  he  added  three  jointed 
dolls,  each  with  wax  hair  and  real  eyes;  a  wooden 
menagerie,  headed  by  a  rubber  inebriate-asylum  elephant 
that  squeaked  when  compressed,  innumerable  picture- 
books,  and  countless  toys  besides.  The  jointed  dolls, 
he  said,  fell  early  in  the  fray,  and  his  humble  little  home 
now  embraced  within  its  walls  all  the  awful  horrors  of 
the  dissecting-room,  with  limbs  scattered  everywhere. 
Only  yesterday,  the  progress  of  his  foot  into  his  shoe  had 
been  retarded  by  the  presence  therein  of  a  papier-mache 
tibia  and  a  card-board  fibia,  and  as  he  left  home  there 
was  a  clinic  being  conducted  on  the  remains  of  the  last 
doll.  Since  the  advent  of  the  picture-books,  the  Reporter 
said,  he  had  been  engaged  in  poring  over  pages  indented 

(133) 


134  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

by  such  great  truths  as  "  This  Is  a  Cat,"  and  "  Here  We 
Have  a  Dog,"  and  other  revelations  of  natural  history 
from  which  the  opaqueness  had  been  removed  for  the 
benefit  of  childish  eyes  and  ears.  After  offering  his 
usual  reward  for  any  man  who  would  not  wish  to  be  a 
father,  the  Reporter  was  suppressed,  and  the  meeting 
allowed  to  proceed. 


*  * 

* 


"Young  Ned  Sothern  is  here  this  week,  and  I  think 
he  is  great,"  said  the  Actor.  "  He  is  a  very  handsome 
fellow,  and,  as  a  consequence,  he  is  greatly  afflicted  by 
that  dreadful  bane  of  fine-looking  actors,  yclept  the 
*  mash  note '  in  the  profession.  But  he  pays  no  attention 
to  these  amatory  screeds.  While  playing  the  *  Highest 
Bidder,'  in  Montreal,  recently,  he  made  quite  an  impres 
sion  on  a  young  society  belle,  and  she  mailed  him  daily 
a  quantity  of  angular  handwriting  on  monogrammed  note- 
paper.  Her  feminine  chums  knew  her  secret,  and,  much 
to  her  chagrin,  she  was  unable  to  exhibit  anything  in  the 
nature  of  aftermath,  as  Sothern  wasn't  in  the  aftermath 
line.  Growing  boldly  desperate  at  his  silence,  she  con 
ceived  a  daring  plan  to  meet  him,  and  she  made  a  wager 
with  her  friends  that  before  he  left  the  city  she  would 
spend  a  half-hour  in  his  immediate  presence.  In  the 
auction-room  scene  of  the  '  Highest  Bidder '  there  is  a 
piece  of  marble  statuary  exhibited  among  the  odds  and 
ends  there,  and  this  venturesome  damsel,  who  had  noticed 
it,  attired  herself  in  drapery,  whitened  her  face,  and 
bribed  the  stage-door  keeper  and  the  property-man 
heavily  to  put  her  upon  the  statue's  pedestal.  When  the 
curtain  went  up  on  the  scene,  the  girl's  pose  was  perfect. 
Sothern  came  upon  the  stage  and  hung  his  hat  on  the 
projecting  arm.  As  he  paused  to  soliloquize,  his  own 
arm  inadvertently  stole  around  the  waist  of  the  *  statue,' 


135 

and  immediately  there  was  a  chorus  of  '  Oh's  '  from  a 
bevy  of  young  ladies  in  a  stage  box.  Sothern  saw 
through  the  transparent  trick  in  a  moment;  but  he  made 
no  sign.  Proceeding  with  the  lines  of  his  part,  he  began 
absently  to  tap  the  *  statue's '  knee  with  the  metallic 
auctioneer's  mallet  which  he  carried  in  his  hand.  The 
taps  were  none  too  gentle,  and  the  feminine  box-party 
exclaimed,  'Good  gracious  ! '  The  *  statue's  '  black  eyes 
flashed  fire,  and  she  blurted  out,  '  You're  a  brute  ! '  Then, 
gathering  her  scanty  drapery  about  her,  she  jumped 
from  the  pedestal  and  made  a  hasty  exit.  Sothern  tried 
the  real  statue  again  the  next  night,  but  its  presence  in 
the  scene  gave  him  a  cold  chill,  and  he  had  it  banished." 


*  * 
* 


"Iran  against  that  new  automatic  cigar  gag  of  Kohl 
&  Middleton's,  the  other  day,"  chipped  in  the  Agent. 
"  It's  a  great  scheme.  If  you  desire  an  automatic  and 
aristocratic  cigar,  you  drop  a  dime  in  the  slot  and  hold 
your  hand  under  the  box.  Out  falls  the  torch  instanter. 
Then  if  you  desire  a  canaille  cigar,  you  insert  a  nickel, 
and  when  the  result  of  the  drawing  is  announced,  you 
find  yourself  in  a  position  to  estrange  your  friends  by 
igniting  the  vegetable.  Ned  Kohl  says  he  is  working  on 
several  improvements,  and  in  a  few  weeks  he  expects  to 
have  the  machine  so  perfected  that  it  will  give  the  base 
ball  scores  in  summer  and  remarks  on  the  weather  in 
winter.  In  the  revised  edition,  Canadian  coins  or  pant- 
buttons  will  not  be  legal  tender.  Kohl's  partner,  George 
Middleton,  is  seeking  an  inventor  of  an  automatic  bar, 
on  which  a  man  could  lay  down  his  change,  press  a  but 
ton,  and  be  served  with  a  drink  and  an  Arabian  breath. 
I'm  going  to  introduce  him  to  a  friend  of  mine  who 
called  on  his  family  physician,  the  other  day,  and  ques 
tioned  him  about  his  severe  sore  throat.  The  doctor 


136  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

examined  him,  and  then  informed  him  that  his  only  sal 
vation  was  whiskers  or  beard.  My  friend  thought  he 
said  'whiskey  and  beer,'  and  he  has  been  full  ever 

since." 

*  * 
* 

"  Seeing  Frank  Lane  here  the  other  day,"  put  in  the 
Manager,  "  reminded  me  of  the  experience  he  once  had 
in  the  company  of  John  McCullough,  the  tragedian.  He 
and  Will  McConnell  were  playing  the  entire  mob  in 
small  town,  and  Frank's  father,  who  was  playing  in  the 
company,  objected  strongly  to  any  stage  foolishness  in 
the  way  of  '  guying.'  One  night,  Lane  the  elder  was 
playing  Icilius  in 'Virginias,' and  the  town  where  they 
were  was  Quincy,  111.  Frank  and  Will  had  found 
the  Quincy  beer  very  good  during  the  afternoon,  and 
when  they  showed  up  at  the  evening  performance 
they  felt  remarkably  well,  and  made  an  exceedingly 
vociferous  mob.  When  the  elder  Lane  came  to  rebuke 
the  duet  mob  he  spoke  the  line,  *  Who  uttered  that  evil 
word  ? '  and  his  dutiful  son  answered,  '  McConnell  ! ' 
This  greatly  incensed  the  parent,  and  under  his  breath 
he  muttered,-'  Shut  up,  you  loafer  ! '  Then,  proceeding,  he 
inquired, '  Who  uttered  that  evil  word,  I  say  ? '  and  again 
Frank  responded,  '  McConnell ! '  The  father  was  then 
choking  with  anger,  and  had  to  leave  the  stage,  while 
McCullough  stood  in  the  entrance  and  heartily  enjoyed 

the  episode." 

*  # 
* 

"  I  desire,"  said  the  Purveyor,  as  he  passed  a  damp 
towel  over  a  moist  section  of  his  mahogany,  "to  .file  a 
protest  here  in  open  meeting  against  the  Agent.  He 
has  done  me  up  in  great  shape  during  the  past  week. 
Last  Saturday  morning  he  dropped  in  and  told  me  that 
he  had  been  appointed  on  the  committee  to  watch  Wash- 


THE    LOCAL    CHORUS-GIRL    TO    THE    FORE.  137 

ington  Irving  Bishop,  the  mind-reader,  in  the  afternoon. 
Bishop,  he  said,  was  to  give  the  members  of  the  com 
mittee  a  scarf-pin  to  hide  within  a  mile  of  the  Palmer 
House.  Then  he  was  to  be  blindfolded  and  find  it.  The 
Agent  suggested  that  if  he  could  arrange  to  hide  it  here, 
a  big  crowd  would  follow  Bishop,  and  we  would  conse 
quently  have  a  big  bar  trade.  As  this  proposition  looked 
like  business,  I  cheerfully  agreed,  and  I  went  to  work 
and  cut  up  two  dozen  lemons  as  a  starter.  About  five 
o'clock,  in  came  the  Agent  and  three  other  guys.  One 
of  them  had  a  bag  over  his  head,  and  the  others  were 
tied  to  him  with  strings.  I  had  planted  the  scarf-pin 
behind  the  olive  dish  over  there,  and  the  guy  with  the 
bag  on  his  head  steered  right  for  it,  and  found  it.  The 
gang  which  had  followed  them  in  set  up  a  howl,  and  the 
Agent  told  me  that  the  experiment  had  been  a  success 
of  the  first  magnitude,  and  that  I  should  set  up  the 
drinks  as  a  starter.  Well,  I  did  so,  and  the  round  was 
worth  at  least  two  dollars,  and  when  the  gang  had  used  it 
up,  they  proceeded  to  float  out.  Then,  and  only  then,  it 
was  I  discovered  the  guy  with  the  bag  on  his  head  was 
the  Agent's  partner,  and  that  a  job  had  bee.n  put  up  on 
me.  I  now  demand  that  the  Agent  be  expelled  from  the 
Club,  or  be  compelled  to  pay  for  the  round.  If  this  is 
not  done,  you  can  consider  my  resignation  handed  in." 
But  rather  than  have  such  an  important  functionary 
resign,  the  Manager  kindly  discharged  the  Agent's 

indebtedness,  and  peace  was  once  more  restored. 

*  * 
* 

"  This  Inter-State  Commerce  Bill  is  pretty  certain  to 
knock  out  a  number  of  our  theatrical  friends,"  remarked 
the  Counsellor.  "  I  have  studied  it,  and  I  know  whereof 
I  speak.  Those  pale  and  thoughtful  young  men  who 
invariably  go  down  to  the  front-row  seats  to  seek  familiar 


138  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

faces  in  each  recurring  comic  opera  chorus,  will  ofttimes 
be  disappointed  in  their  quest,  because  each  chorus  fairy 
will  represent  one  full  and  well-developed  railroad  fare, 
no  matter  if  she  is  away  in  the  back  row.  There  isn't 
one  of  them  who  is  able  to  ride  on  a  child's  ticket,  you 
know.  But,  as  the  old  saying  is,  'it's  an  ill  wind  that 
nobody  blows  in,'  and  it  will  lend  a  great  impetus  to  the 
local  chorus-girl  industry.  Big  companies  can  not  afford 
to  pay  full  railroad  fares  for  members  of  chorus  and 
ballet,  and,  as  a  consequence,  they  will  be  obliged  to 
depend,  in  a  great  measure,  upon  our  own  home  chorus- 
girls.  To  use  a  pastry  expression,  it  will  be  '  pie '  for 
them;  and  when  the  young  Chicago  orchids,  in  full- 
dress  suits,  wait  at  the  various  stage-doors  after  the  per 
formances,  they  will  have  the  more  satisfactory  prospect 
of  purchasing  beer  and  cheese  sandwiches  for  home 
talent;  and  all  of  the  local  dudes  will  become  disciples 
of  protection,  instead  of  the  chorus  free-traders,  which 

they  have  been  in  the  past." 

*  * 
* 

"  The  Agent's  reference,  awhile  ago,  to  Ned  Kohl,  the 
museum  man,"  said  the  Night  Clerk,  "reminds  me  that 
he  was  telling  me,  the  other  day,  of  a  *  jay '  who  had  a 
funny  experience  here  in  town  last  week.  He  arrived  at 
the  Union  Depot,  and  strolled  up  West  Madison  street, 
in  search  of  a  quiet  and  comfortable  hotel,  where  he 
could  economize.  Finally,  he  struck  the  Kellar  House. 
The  hour  was  late,  so  he  engaged  a  room,  and  lost  no 
time  in  retiring  for  the  night.  In  the  morning  he  arose, 
and  found  his  way  into  the  dining-room  for  breakfast. 
Now  you  know  that  the  Kellar  House  is  the  place  where 
all  of  the  freaks  put  up.  The  'jay'  was  not  aware  of 
this  fact;  consequently  he  was  somewhat  surprised  when 
he  saw  the  pink-eyed  Albino  lady  enter  and  make  an 


139 

attack  upon  a  large  plate  of  wheat-cakes.  Soon  after 
ward,  in  came  the  living  skeleton.  The  'jay  '  began  to 
grow  nervous.  Then  the  two  Zulus  ambled  in,  followed 
by  the  fat  lady  and  the  armless  boy.  This  was  too  much 
entirely,  and,  with  a  yell  of  affright,  the  countryman 
bolted  out  of  the  building,  and  never  stopped  until  he 
sank  into  the  seat  of  the  smoking-car  on  a  homeward- 
bound  train." 

* 

"Our  friend  Frank  Lincoln,  the  funny  man,  often 
encounters  some  soul-stirring  experiences  while  making 
the  great  American  public  laugh,"  remarked  the  Pro 
fessor.  "  I  refer  to  him  as  *  funny  man '  because  I  know 
he  likes  it.  Sometimes  he  strikes  a  place  where  they 
wonder  at  him  and  his  comedy  more  than  they  ever  did 
at  the  old  fifteen  puzzle.  Awhile  ago,  he  was  engaged 
to  visit  a  suburban  church,  and  entertain  the  congrega 
tion.  He  had  been  advertised  as  a  'monologue  artist,' 
and  so  it  was  not  known  what  he  proposed  to  do.  When 
he  reached  the  church  on  the  evening  announced,  he 
found  a  good  house  in  attendance,  and  he  was  at  once 
escorted  up  to  the  pulpit  and  given  a  seat  next  to  the 
pastor.  Pretty  soon  this  pastor  arose  and  offered  prayer, 
asking  a  blessing  upon  the  entertainment,  after  which  he 
introduced  Lincoln  to  the  audience  as  a  young  man  who 
would  treat  them  to  two  hours  of  sanctified  fun.  This 
introduction  made  Frank  feel  as  comical  as  a  hearse- 
plume,  but  he  pitched  in  nevertheless.  Not  a  smile 
could  he  get,  although  some  of  the  people  present 
looked  as  though  they  would  greatly  like  to  unbend; 
and  when  he  had  finished,  the  reverend  pastor  arose, 
shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  said:  'That  was 
very  good,  Mr.  Lincoln;  but  do  you  know,  that  once  or 
twice  I  came  very  near  laughing !  '  And  yet  there  are 


140  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

people  who  think  that  life  is  one  continued  charlotte- 
russe  to  Lincoln.  He  is  expected  to  be  real  cute  and 
cunning  at  all  times  and  under  all  circumstances.  Even 
when  out  making  a  social  call,  he  is  never  surprised  in 
the  least  if  his  hostess  says:  'Now,  Mr.  Lincoln,  won't 
you  please  cut  up  for  my  little  boy  ? '  Lincoln  doesn't 
believe  that  there  was  ever  any  such  place  as  Gilead,  and 

I  don't  think  you  can  blame  him." 

*  * 
* 

The  Counsellor  had  been  telling  the  Purveyor  that 
he  could  easily  perform  the  wonderful  mind-reading 
feats  of  Washington  Irving  Bishop,  but  the  Purveyor 
was  just  a  bit  shy  on  this  point,  having  been  victimized 
once  before.  However,  the  Counsellor  insisted;  and  to 
prove  his  rash  statement,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  blind 
folded  tightly,  after  which  he  grabbed  the  Agent  by  the 
back  of  the  neck  and  the  apex  of  his  pantaloons,  and 
told  him  to  think  of  something.  The  ensuing  silence 
was  death-like  and  impressive.  Finally,  the  Counsellor 
reached  into  his  upper  vest-pocket,  produced  a  cigar,  and 
handed  it  over  to  the  Agent.  That  worthy  accepted  the 
weed,  bit  off  its  end,  and  lit  it,  at  the  same  time  declar 
ing  that  the  Counsellor  had  correctly  divined  his 
thoughts.  Then  the  other  members  insisted  upon  hav 
ing  their  thoughts  read,  too,  but  the  Counsellor  refused 
to  make  any  further  tests,  on  the  ground  that  he  was 
broke;  and  the  Club  then  adjourned. 


XV. 


THE  AGENT  ON  THE  ROAD— He  Tells  of  His  Visit  to  a  Small,  One- 
Night  Stand  Out  West — Show  Life  in  the  Country — Peculiarities 
of  the  "  Jays" — Charlie  Williams'  Exuberance — Bob  Arthur  and 
the  Decapitation  Act — Horace  McVicker  Scared — Frank  Cotter's 
"Mixed  Pickles" — Charlie  Andrews'  Donkey — Will  McConnell's 
Stage  Locomotive — Ned  Thome's  Bad  Break— The  New  Crim 
inal  Lawyer. 

"  I  have  been  out  on  the  road  this  week,"  said  the 
Agent,  when  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  had 
gathered  in  the  Usual  Resort  last  evening,  "and  I  saw 
some  evidences  of  show-life  in  one  or  two  of  the  one- 
night  stands  which  I  was  obliged  to  visit.  These  evi 
dences  were  in  the  shape  of  show-bills.  Of  course  you've 
all  ridden  through  small  towns  and  seen  fragmentary 
mementoes  of  a  departed  circus  pasted  all  over  the  corn- 
cribs.  The  balance  of  the  fragments  had  gone  to  satisfy 
the  cravings  of  the  elements  and  the  appetites  of  the 
local  goats.  In  one  town  which  I  struck,  I  saw  several 
very  funny  stands  of  bills,  heralding  shows  that  I  never 
heard  of  before.  There  was  the  *  Original  Double  Mam 
moth  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  Aggregation.'  Why  is  it  that 
all  *  Uncle  Tom  '  shows  are  *  original,'  as  well  as  *  double ' 
and  *  mammoth  ? '  Can  any  of  you  tell  ?  This  particu 
lar  show,  through  its  advance  agent,  had  ignited  the 
dead-walls  with  some  of  the  most  lurid  and  incendiary 
wood-cuts  I  have  ever  seen.  The  poor  blood-hounds 
represented  were  bigger  than  grain  elevators,  and  were 
shown  chasing  a  pale-green  female,  with  a  pink-and- 
white  ch;ld  in  her  arms,  across  a  huge  field  of  broken 

(141) 


142  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

ecru  ice,  while  following  them  up  were  several  scarlet 
overseers  and  one  or  two  dozen  of  assorted  dark-brown 
colored  men.  The  whole  effect  was  very  weird,  as  viewed 
by  an  unimpassioned  bystander  from  across  the  public 

square." 

*  * 

* 

"  Yes,"  put  in  the  Actor,  "  I've  witnessed  many  such 
sights  during  my  career.  To  the  lithographs  displayed 
in  the  windows  of  country  stores  are  attached  slips  of 
yellow  paper  giving  the  date  of  the  coming  show's 
appearance,  and  the  admonition:  *  Keep  your  eye  on  the 
day  and  date.'  Many  agents  make  this  important  line 
plainer  to  the  '  jays '  by  inserting  the  lithograph  of  an 
eye.  Then  they  usually  put  on  another  line  informing 
the  general  public  that  there  will  be  popular  prices,  and 
that  seats  are  now  on  sale  at  the  jewelry-store,  opposite 
the  post-office,  and  also  at  Gawkley's  drug-store.  Oh, 
yes,  I've  seen  lots  of  'em.  The  'bus-drivers  at  the 
depots  can  tell  an  agent  as  soon  as  he  jumps  off  a  train. 
They  all  make  a  rush  for  him,  and  the  one  who  finally 
secures  him,  asks  him  when  his  '  troupe  '  is  coming — they 
invariably  call  it  'troupe.'  Next,  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel  informs  him  that  his  'troupe  won't  do  no  business ' 
if  they  haven't  got  a  brass  band;  and  if  his  show  hap 
pens  to  be  booked  for  a  Saturday  night,  he  is  informed 
that  he  will  surely  lose  money,  because  '  all  the  stores  will 
be  open '  then.  If  the  show  happens  to  fall  afoul  of  a 
church  fair  or  a  whist  party,  the  show  invariably  gets  the 
worst  of  it.  One-night  stands  are  great  institutions,  and 
the  small  town  that  is  not  able  to  boast  of  its  'opery 
house '  is  not  in  it  at  all.  Never  visit  one  of  these  places 
unless  you  have  a  brass  band  and  your  leading  lady  will 
consent  to  go  out  in  the  street  parade,  which  is  another 
necessity  in  a  one-night  stand." 


EXUBERANCE.  143 

"I  was  down  at  the  Grand  Opera  House  the  other 
night,"  said  the  Agent,  "and  there  I  saw  a  new  dodge 
which  Charlie  Williams,  the  treasurer,  has  introduced  in 
the  box-office.  You  know  that  ever  since  he  and  Ezra 
Kendall,  the  comedian,  started  out  *  A  Pair  of  Kids,' 
Charlie  has  been  kept  busy  receiving  telegrams  about 
the  business  'on  the  road,'  and  his  pockets  are  always 
bulging  with  them.  Finally,  the  messenger-boys  at  the 
telegraph  office  struck  against  so  much  work,  and  now 
the  Western  Union  has  run  a  wire  and  put  an  extra 
operator  into  the  box-office  of  the  Grand.  Every  night 
about  seven  o'clock,  Charlie  takes  a  seat  near  the  instru 
ment.  It  ticks  out,  and  the  operator  reads:  *  Oskaloosa, 
Iowa.  The  doors  are  open,  and  the  police  are  beating 
back  the  eager  crowds/  Charlie  smiles,  and  lights  a 
fresh  cigar.  More  ticks,  and:  '  Money  running  out  over 
the  top  of  the  box-office.'  Then  Charlie  smiles  twice, 
and  lights  two  fresh  cigars.  Ticks  again,  and:  *  Doors 
closed,  and  sign  of  no  standing-room  just  put  out.'  At 
this,  CharHe  lights  a  whole  box  of  fresh  cigars.  He 
declares  that  these  are  the  messages  from  every  town  in 
which  Kendall  plays,  and  that  he -is  thinking  seriously  of 
putting  Manager  Hamlin  in  the  box-office  next  season, 

and  running  the  Grand  himself." 

*  * 
* 

"  Our  friend  Bob  Arthur  is  again  with  us,  in  the  home 
of  his  childhood,"  said  the  Counsellor;  "and  again  he  is 
ahead  of  Herrmann,  the  wizard.  Last  week,  Bob  arrived 
in  town,  and  at  once  sent  a  note  to  Arthur  Cambridge, 
the  dramatic  agent,  ordering  the  longest-necked  actor  he 
had  in  stock.  In  accordance  with  this  order,  Arthur  sur 
veyed  his  supply  of  histrions  as  they  came  in,  one  by  one, 
to  inquire  for  the  letter  that  never  came,  and  he  finally 
picked  out  an  artist  with  a  neck  long  enough  to  taste  a 


144  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

beer  four  times  before  it  reached  its  destination.  When 
this  giraffe  actor  called  on  Bob,  he  was  informed  that  he 
was  wanted  for  Herrmann  to  behead  nine  times  this 
week.  The  histrion  said:  'If  this  is  on  the  square,  I 
wonder  what  my  constituents  in  the  one-night  stands  will 
say  when  they  miss  me.'  But  Bob  disgorged  a  large  silver 
dollar  as  a  retaining-fee,  and  the  contract  was  signed  and 
sealed  at  once.  *  I've  got  many  an  engagement  on  my 
nerve,'  said  the  actor,  as  he  affixed  his  shaky  signature, 
'  but  never  before  on  my  neck.  I  don't  exactly  fancy  the 
job,  but  at  the  same  time  I  have  often  awoke  of  a  morn 
ing  and  wished  someone  would  cut  off  the  head  I  had 
from  the  night  before.'  " 


*  * 
* 


"  Horace  McVicker  was  afraid  he  had  a  lawsuit  on  his 
hands  the  other  day,"  remarked  the  Actor.  "  As  he  was 
standing  in  front  of  the  theater,  he  was  approached  by  a 
short,  stout  party,  who  glared  at  him  fiercely,  and  asked  if 
he  was  the  manager.  Horace  thought  he  would  chance 
it,  so  he  said  he  was.  'Then,  sir,'  said  the  stout  party, 
*  I  want  to  inform  you  that,  on  that  very  windy  day  we  had 
here  last  week,  I  was  passing  your  theater,  when  a  heavy 
iron  rod  from  your  banner  up  there  fell  to  the  sidewalk 
with  a  crash.'  Horace  looked  the  complainant  over  care 
fully,  saw  that  he  did  not  appear  to  be  at  all  injured, 
and  then  silently  awaited  further  developments.  'That 
might  have  killed  me,  sir,'  said  the  man.  '  How  near 
were  you  to  the  bar  when  it  feli  ? '  inquired  Horace.  '  I 
was  across  the  street;  but  had  I  been  over  here,  I  would 
have  been  in  danger  of  sustaining  great  bodily  harm,' 
was  the  response.  Horace  scratched  his  forefinger  on 
his  bronze  mustache,  and  said:  'My  friend,  you  don't 
know  your  luck.  You  were  over  there  when  this  little 
iron  bar  of  ours  fell;  but  over  where  you  were  they 


;  MIXED    PICKLES."  145 

a  long,  mahogany  bar,  with  looking-glasses  and  men  in 
white  aprons  around  it.  Think  what  might  have  been 
the  fearful  result  had  that  fallen  on  you!  Make  your 
complaint  over  there — we  have  all  we  can  do  to  shinny 
on  our  own  side.'  The  stout  party  went  off  scratching 

his  head." 

*  * 
* 

"  Our  old  friend  Joe  Polk,  and  his  manager,  Frank 
Cotter,  have  been  with  us  all  the  week  with  their  play, 
'Mixed  Pickles.'  When  they  came  here  a  year  ago  with 
it,"  said  the  Agent,  "  Frank  went  to  a  big  pickle-house 
and  contracted  for  a  great  quantity  of  small  jars  of  mixed 
pickles  to  advertise  his  attraction.  These  he  distributed 
free;  and  all  of  the  retail  grocers  near  the  theater  boy 
cotted  the  show,  because  Frank  spoiled  their  chow-chow 
trade  by  his  singular  method  of  advertising.  But  the 
play  is  very  funny,  and  Polk  is  a  very  funny  man.  The 
other  day,  he  was  complaining  a  little  of  bad  business, 
and  there  passed  by  a  poor  unfortunate  whose  two  legs 
were  off  at  the  knees.  'What  ^o  you  want  to  kick  for, 
when  you  see  such  beings  as  that  going  about  the 
streets  ? '  queried  the  friend  to  whom  he  was  complain 
ing.  4I  guess,' replied  Joe,  'that  I  can  kick  a  good 
sight  more  effectually  than  a  man  who  has  no  legs  at 
all ! ' " 

* 

"  Have  you  heard  of  the  illness  of  Charlie  Andrews' 
donkey  ? "  queried  the  Manager.  "  Well,  you  know  that 
this  same  little  donkey  is  by  all  odds  the  best  actor  in 
Charlie's  '  Michael  Strogoff '  company,  and  his  sudden 
death  would  be  a  great  blow  to  the  organization. 
Andrews  has  called  in  the  best  medical  skill  obtainable  in 
the  veterinary  line  here,  and  has  formally  applied  for 

relief  to  the  Actors'  Fund  of  America.     To  do  this  latter, 
10 


146  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

he  has,  himself,  purchased  all  of  the  necessary  red  tape,  at 
his  own  expense.  He  declares  that  if  this  actor  dies,  he 
will  have  him  stuffed,  and  carry  him  around  the  country, 
anyway.  Charlie  seems  to  have  remarkably  hard  luck 
with  animals.  In  the  good  old  days  here,  he  got  a 
little  gay  one  summer,  and  undertook  to  start  out  a 
' Wild  West  Show' — and  it  was  wild,  and  weird,  too. 
Charlie  went  out  West  and  purchased  a  live  buffalo,  pay 
ing  $100  for  it,  and  agreeing  to  pay  $100  more  upon  its 
delivery  here.  It  arrived  in  Chicago  shortly  afterward, 
and  Charlie  paid  the  balance  and  the  heavy  express 
charges,  before  he  found  the  buffalo  was  dead.  Then  he 
invested  in  a  pair  of  elks  which  were  broken  to  harness, 
and  undertook  to  drive  them  in  the  street  parade;  but,  in 
the  first  block,  they  ran  clear  through  the  bass-drum  in  the 
band,  and  chased  the  scared  drum-major  to  Washington 
Heights." 


*  * 
* 


"  Speaking  about  unruly  objects  in  the  show  business," 
said  the  Actor,  "  reminds  me  of  my  recent  visit  to  the 
People's  Theater,  with  Manager  Will  McConnell,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  opening  performance  of  his  new  attrac 
tion— E.  T.  Stetson,  in  '  Neck  and  Neck.'  Will  and  his 
partner  were,  of  course,  very  nervous.  Will  told  me,  in 
confidence,  that  the  great  features  of  the  play  were  the 
railroad  train  and  the  execution.  At  rehearsal,  the  rail 
road  train  had  gone  all  right,  and  it  had  been  his  sad 
experience  in  the  show  business  that  whatever  went  all 
right  at  rehearsals  went  all  wrong  at  performances;  con 
sequently  he  was  decidedly  nervous  about  his  two  great 
features.  Well,  the  play  proceeded  to  the  railroad  scene, 
and  the  locomotive  came  out  of  the  entrance  all  right; 
but  when  it  reached  the  middle  of  the  stage,  it  shied  and 
went  right  up  the  center  aisle,  shaking  hands  with  the 


NED  THORNE'S  BAD  BREAK.  147 

ushers,  and  never  stopping  until  it  had  toppled  over, 
and  the  Roman  candle  in  the  smoke-stack  had  bored  a 
hole  in  the  rear  elevation  of  the  orchestra  leader's  dress 
coat.  Will  was  wild.  He  tore  around  behind  the 
scenes,  and  when  he  returned,  quite  out  of  breath,  he 
said  that  he  had  summarily  discharged  the  engineer 
of  the  locomotive  because  he  had  not  had  his  hand  on 
the  throttle.  To  cap  the  climax,  the  man  who  played 
the  executioner,  in  the  last  act,  was  a  little  full,  and  he 
hooked  the  rope  on  the  wrong  noose,  nearly  killing 
the  star.  McConnell's  hair  turned  gray  that  night. 
They  closed  the  engagement  last  Saturday  evening, 
and  made  the  jump,  with  the  scaffold  and  railroad  train, 
to  a  store-house,  without  losing  a  night.  This  was 
because  the  cable-cars  were  held  for  Will  after  the  per 
formance." 

*  * 
* 

"Your  reference  awhile  ago  to  Horace  McVicker," 
mused  the  Manager,  as  he  turned  toward  the  Actor, 
"  reminds  me  that  in  the  old  days  he  tried  to  'play-act;' 
and  between  you  and  me,  he  was  a  pretty  queer  actor. 
When  Ned  Thorne  first  came  to  the  theater  as  the  lead 
ing  man  of  the  stock  company  then  playing  there, 
Horace  was  essaying  small  parts.  The  morning  after 
the  first  performance  of  the  season,  Ned  strolled  into  the 
manager's  office  to  inquire  for  his  mail.  Manager 
McVicker  greeted  him  pleasantly,  and  asked  him  how  he 
liked  the  company.  *  I  liked  all  the  people  except  the 
young  fellow  who  played  the  messenger — he  is  a  duffer.' 
When  Ned  made  this  criticism,  he  noticed  that  Louis 
Sharpe  hid  his  head  behind  the  morning  paper;  and 
when,  a  few  moments  later,  Mr.  McVicker  walked  out, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  Sharpe  informed  him  that  he 
had  called  the  manager's  son  'a  duffer.'  It  was  too 


148  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

good  to  keep,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Horace  heard  of 
it.  The  next  week,  the  young  actor  was  '  out  of  the  bill;' 
and  when  Thorne  strolled  down  under  the  stage  one 
night,  he  found  Horace  with  a  long  pole  in  his  hand 
helping  a  lot  of  stage  hands  prod  the  canvas  which  rep 
resented  the  raging  billows  of  the  ocean  upon  the  stage 
overhead.  Ned  laughed  at  him.  Til  get  even  with 
you,'  he  said  to  Ned,  as  he  paused  to  wipe  the  perspi 
ration  from  his  reeking  brow;  and  he  did,  a  few  days 
later.  Ned  was  a  brother  of  the  lamented  Charles  R. 
Thorne,  Junior,  and  Horace  introduced  him  to  a  friend 
as  '  Mr.  Thorne,  a  brother  of  the  actor/  Then  Ned 

cried  quits." 

*  * 
* 

"Who  is  that  young  legal  friend  of  yours?"  asked  the 
Actor  of  the  Agent.  "  I  met  him  in  here  the  other  day, 
and  he  informed  me  that  he  was  busily  engaged  in  a 
criminal  case.  Some  days  later  I  met  him  again,  and 
inquired  how  his  case  had  come  out.  He  said  that  his 
client  had  been  discharged,  but  that  he  had  not  exactly 
been  able  to  learn  the  reason  why.  He  said  he  had 
secured  a  pretty  good  jury,  had  made  out  a  fair  case, 
and  had  delivered  what  he  considered  a  powerful  argu 
ment,  but  the  judge  had  instructed  the  jury  dead  against 
his  client.  After  the  jury  had  been  out  about  half  an 
hour,  he  said  they  returned  and  wanted  to  know  whether 
the  prisoner  had  employed  his  own  counsel  or  whether 
the  court  had  appointed  him.  The  judge  had  informed 
them  that  the  lawyer  had  been  employed  by  the  prisoner. 
When  the  jury  came  in  again,  your  legal  friend  said, 
they  acquitted  the  prisoner  on  the  ground  of  in 
sanity;  and  that  is  the  point  your  friend  could  not 
understand." 


THE    PURVEYOR    SHAKES    DICE    WITH    HIMSELF.      149 

The  Purveyor  here  went  down  to  the  other  end  of 
the  bar  and  shook  dice  with  himself  to  determine  who 
should  close  up,  and  the  Club  quietly  filtered  out  through 
the  side  door. 


XVI. 

THE  MANAGER  AT  THE  TELEPHONE — He  Indulges  in  a  Dispute 
with  Mr.  Edison's  Great  Invention — A  Disastrous  Fall — Dixey 
and  the  Wine  Agents — Tony  Denier  and  the  Auditorium — "  The 
Jew  and  the  Jay  " — Will  McConnell's  Minstrel  Joke — Gus  Morti 
mer's  Star — "Scully  is  Still  Walking" — "  Sam'l  of  Posen  " 
Curtis'  Horse — A  Borrowed  Dress  Suit. 

In  the  temporary  absence  of  the  Proprietor,  the  reg 
ular  meeting  of  the  Turnover  Club  was  called  to  order 
in  the  Usual  Resort,  last  evening,  by  the  Night  Clerk. 
Just  what  he  employed  as  a  gavel  is  immaterial,  and  suf 
fice  it  to  say  that,  while  some  of  its  contents  were  spilled 
out,  it  answered  the  purpose  admirably.  While  the  min 
utes  of  the  previous  meeting  were  being  read,  it  was 
noticed  that  the  Manager  was  also  absent;  but  he  subse 
quently  turned  up  during  the  call  for  unfinished  busi 
ness.  How  he  managed  to  pass  the  cigar-stand  without 
breaking  the  show-case  will  always  remain  a  mystery, 
as  his  course  from  the  front  door  to  the  telephone  in  the 
private  office  was  very  uncertain;  but  he  finally  landed 
in  the  vicinity  of  Mr.  Edison's  valuable  patents,  and 
grasped  the  receiver  in  a  grip  of  iron.  The  effort  of 
twirling  the  annunciator  made  him  dizzy,  but  he  found 
voice  to  call  for  the  number  he  required,  while  the  Club 
bravely  held  its  collective  breath,  and  awaited  develop 
ments.  "Hello!  is  that  you,  Maria?"  queried  the 
Manager,  as  he  steadied  himself  against  the  safe.  The 
response  to  this  could  not  be  heard,  but  the  Manager 
said:  "I'm  here,  dear,  and  I'm  all  right."  The  strain 
had  been  too  much,  and  fairly  before  the  last  word  had 

C151) 


152  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

entered  the  transmitter,  the  Manager  fell  back  with  that 
traditional  ''dull  thud"  usually  referred  to  in  newspaper 
accounts  of  executions.  In  the  hurry  and  excitement  of 
the  moment,  he  neglected  to  release  his  death-grip  upon 
the  receiver,  and  the  entire  telephone  accordingly  for 
sook  the  wall  and  accompanied  him  to  the  floor,  along 
with  about  fourteen  yards  of  wire.  The  members 
silently  wondered  whether  the  accompanying  crash  had 
leaked  its  sound  over  the  wire  to  the  ear  of  the  anxious 
wife  with  whom  he  had  been  conversing.  They  sorrow 
fully  lifted  him  into  a  neighboring  chair,  and  blocked  his 
feet  with  a  cuspidor,  so  that  he  could  not  slide  off,  while 
the  Agent  tried  to  replace  the  pieces  of  telephone  with 

mucilage. 

*  * 
* 

"  That  girl  at  the  central  office  just  asked  me  if  we 
were  through,"  he  said,  as  he  dropped  the  remaining 
piece  of  the  receiver,  and  rang  off.  "  Seems  to  me  that 
when  a  man  tears  a  telephone  off  the  wall,  he  is  pretty 
near  through  with  it.  Wait  until  I  ring  up  the  coroner 
and  notify  him.  What's  that  ?  Oh,  well,  if  he's  coming 
te,  I'll  stop  a  bit.  Guess  he  must  have  been  out  with 
wine  agents  to-day.  Speaking  of  wine  agents,  by  the 
way,  reminds  me  of  a  little  experience  of  Harry  Dixey, 
this  week.  On  Monday  evening  he  discovered,  in  one 
of  the  boxes  at  the  Chicago  Opera  House,  an  old  friend 
of  his,  who  represents  a  certain  brand  of  champagne; 
and  in  the  scene  where  Dunstan  Kirke  Howard  tackles 
the  turkey-lunch,  Dixie  said:  'You  can't  eat  that  lunch, 
old  man,  unless  you  buy  a  bottle  of  George  Bonzet 
wine  !  '  Of  course,  the  man  in  the  box  was  agent  for 
this  particular  brand,  and  was  tickled  to  death  over  the 
compliment.  After  the  act,  he  took  his  friends  out,  and 
he  purchased  three  quarts  of  Bouzet;  and  the  following 


TONY    DENIER    AND    THE    AUDITORIUM.  153 

day  he  sent  a  case  of  it  to  the  comedian,  with  his  best 
wishes.  I  was  at  the  theater  that  night,  and  heard  Dix- 
ey's  wine  gag,  though  I  failed  to  catch  the  name  of  the 
brand  mentioned.  On  Tuesday,  I  met  three  agents  for 
as  many  different  brands  of  champagne,  and  I  told  each 
one  that  Dixey  had  mentioned  his  particular  brand  in 
'Adonis,'  the  night  before.  They  all  sent  Dixey  cases 
of  wine,  with  their  compliments.  The  comedian  hardly 
knew  what  to  make  of  this;  but  he  finally  decided 
wisely,  to  make  cocktails  of  it.  The  agent  of  the 
George  Bouzet  had  'a  run  for  his  money,'  as  it  were; 
but  the  agents  of  Ghouls  Bums,  Centerpole,  and  Sickoh 
were  all  'left  at  the  post.'  Dixey  now  uses  a  bottle  of 
wine  every  night  in  '  Adonis,'  instead  of  a  pistol  and  a 
pint  of  ginger  ale." 


He 

* 


"  I  met  our  old  partner,  Tony  Denier,  the  retired 
clown,  the  other  day,"  remarked  the  Night  Clerk.  "  It 
was  up  on  Congress  street,  near  his  home;  but  I  should 
never  have  recognized  him  had  he  not  been  accompanied 
by  his  famous  bull-pup."  Tony  was  clad  in  a  suit  of 
bill-poster's  overalls,  and  there  was  a  large  slice  of  fresh 
mortar  imbedded  in  his  ecru  whiskers.  I  thought  he  was 
a  Knight  of  Labor,  and  should  have  passed  him  by  had 
not  the  bull-pup  seized  me  by  the  pantaloons  and  called 
my  attention  to  them.  Then  I  asked  him  the  occasion 
for  the  disguise,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  just  per 
formed  the  crowning  act  of  his  life.  You  know  he  lives 
directly  across  the  street  from  the  proposed  big  opera- 
house  and  hotel — the  Auditorium — and  for  weeks  he  has 
been  watching  the  work  of  excavation.  He  knows  the 
contractor,  and  the  other  day  he  asked  the  privilege  of 
laying  the  first  stone.  It  was  granted  him,  and  he  at 
once  rigged  himself  up  as  a  real,  live  laboring-man,  and 


154  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

did  the  deed,  of  which  he  feels  very  proud.  The  men 
made  the  hole  for  him,  and  he  attached  the  end  of  a 
crowbar  to  himself,  and  pried  the  big  stone  into  it. 
Before  he  followed  this  up,  by  putting  on  the  mortar  for 
the  second  stone,  he  deposited  in  the  hole  a  gaily- 
colored  three-sheet  poster  of  himself  in  his  famous 
character  of  Humpty  Dumpty,  so  that  in  after  years  it 
might  bring  up  the  past  to  the  minds  of  John  Blaisdell, 
Charlie  Clayton,  and  other  young  men  of  the  present 
day,  who  will  doubtless  be  still  doing  business  at  the 
same  old  stands  when  the  great  building  has  crumbled 
into  the  dust.  And  then  Tony  went  home  to  take  the 

mortar  out  of  his  beard  and  paste  it  in  his  scrap-book." 

*  * 
* 

"Say,"  broke  in  the  Reporter,  "I've  written  a  'pome/ 
and  I'll  read  it  to  you.  Here,  don't  run  away !  It's  a 
short  one,  and  it's  a  parody  on  '  The  Blue  and  the  Gray.' 
I  call  it  'The  Jew  and  the  Jay.'  It  was  suggested  to 
me  by  the  Palmer  House,  where  the  Hebrews  sojourn, 
and  by  the  Sherman  House,  where  the  grangers  put  up. 
It's  not  long,  and  here  goes  : 


With  apologies  to  the  author  of  '  The  Blue  and  the  Gray, '  and  with 
a  dedication  to  Potter  Palmer  and  J.  It  ring  Pearce, 
"  By  the  side  of  Chicago's  river, 

Whence  the  fleets  of  lumber  have  fled; 
Where  the  horrible  odors  quiver, 
Asleep  are  they  all,  in  bed. 

"  Under  the  roof  of  the  Palmer 

And  the  roof  of  the  Sherman  they  stay: 
Under  the  one,  the  Jew; 
Under  the  other,  the  Jay. 

"  Across  from  the  County's  building 
Is  where  rural  transients  go; 


WILL  M'CONNELL'S  MINSTREL  JOKE.  155 

They  blow  out  the  gas  and  loan  strangers  '  stuff  ' 

When  they  visit  the  fat-stock  show; 
They  leave  their  brogans  in  the  hall-ways, 

They  wonder  at  all  the  strange  scenes, 
And  they  drop  the  letters  they've  written  home 

In  the  tops  of  the  slot-machines. 

"  Under  the  roof  of  the  Sherman 
Is  where  all  of  this  occurs — 
Where  the  man  who  is  given  a  corner  room 
Has  his  whiskers  filled  with  burrs. 

"  Now  let  us  look  in  at  the  Palmer. 

Can  it  be  we  have  made  a  mistake  ? 
No,  we  have  not,  for  there  is  Levi, 

And  Izzy,  and  Ike,  and  Jake; 
The  rhinestones  are  there  in  abundance. 

Ah,  me  !   'Tis  a  beautiful  sight, 
The  rotunda  is  illuminated 

By  electric  and  Israelite. 

"  Under  the  roof  of  the  Palmer 
The  Hebrew  travelers  float, 
And  the  guests  are  awakened  at  two  A.  M., 
By  the  colors  in  Joseph's  coat. 

L'ENVOI. 
"  So,  under  the  roof  of  the  Palmer 

And  the  roof  of  the  Sherman  they  stay: 
Under  the  one,  the  Jew; 
Under  the  other,  the  Jay." 

*    * 
* 

"  William  Ananias  McConnell  is  still  with  us,"  re 
marked  the  Actor,  after  the  members  had  recovered, 
"  and  I  understand  that  he  and  Francis  Murphy,  the 
temperance  advocate,  are  to  remain  here  some  time. 
It  is  now  many  moons  since  Willie  donned  the  sock  and 
buskin,  but  he  delights  to  relate  the  experiences  he  had 
when  he  was  an  actor.  He  was  telling  me,  the  other 
day,  that  he  went  out  from  Chicago  once  to  play  with 


156  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

Harry  Webber,  in  *  Nip  and  Tuck.'  Will  nipped,  and 
Harry  did  the  tucking.  He  remained  with  this  com 
pany  until  the  stage-manager  made  him  dress  with  the 
donkey  which  the  troupe  carried.  Will  did  not  object 
to  the  leading  man,  but  he  drew  the  line  at  the  donkey 
as  a  dressing-room  companion.  While  McConnell  was 
with  the  company,  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  make  the 
life  of  the  star  miserable,  but  Webber  bore  it  patiently, 
as  Willie's  big  brother  did  his  printing,  and  on  that 
account  he  loved  the  family.  One  night  in  Peru,  Ind., 
Will  was  playing  the  part  of  the  doctor,  and  he  changed 
one  speech  to  the  heroine  by  saying:  *  You  had  better  go 
into  the  house,  my  dear,  for  although  this  is  Peru,  it  is 
chilly.'  Strong  men  wept  at  this  sally,  and  the  laugh 
Will  expected  came  not.  After  the  performance, 
McConnell  asked  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  why  this 
little  joke  of  his  had  failed  to  take.  This  landlord  had 
visited  the  show  on  a  trip-pass,  and  therefore  didn't 
hesitate  to  give  his  opinion.  'My  boy,'  he  said,  'every 
minstrel  troupe  that  has  been  here  for  the  last  thirty- 
seven  years  has  used  that  gag,  and  we  saw  it  in  Ayer's 
almanac  of  1842  ! '  Will  has  been  reading  almanacs  ever 

since  that  time." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  was  around  to  the  James  and  Wainwright  opening, 
the  other  night,"  said  the  Professor.  "  Gus  Mortimer  is 
their  manager,  you  know,  and  he  is  a  strong  opponent  of 
heavy  lithographic  and  circus  advertising.  Between  the 
acts  he  was  arguing  against  this  abuse  to  a  lot  of  skeptics 
in  the  matter,  and  he  declared  it  as  his  opinion  that  it 
did  not  help  a  legitimate  attraction  a  particle  to  herald  it 
in  seven  colors  and  a  tint.  At  this,  one  of  the  skeptics 
sneeringly  remarked  that  while  the  manager's  statement 
may  be  true,  it  was  nevertheless  a  fact  that  Mr.  Mortimer 


''SCULLY    IS    STILL    WALKING."  157 

was  heavily  billing  his  wife  as  a  member  of  the  James- 
Wainwright  supporting  company,  and  he  thought  this  in 
very  poor  taste.  Now,  as  Gus'  wife  was  in  the  East,  he 
was  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  the  man  meant,  and  he 
asked  him.  'You  don't  know  what  I  mean?'  was  the 
reply.  'Why,  don't  you  give  a  prominent  line  on  your 
three-sheets  to  Julie  De  Mortimer,  and  isn't  she  your 
wife  ? '  The  burst  of  laughter  which  followed  this  rather 
staggered  the  fault-finder,  and  he  closed  up  like  a  clam 
when  he  found  that  he  had  been  making  all  this  unnec 
essary  fuss  over  Miss  Wainwright's  part  in  *  Richelieu.'  " 

*  * 
* 

"  I  see  that  Ned  Kohl,  of  Kohl  &  Middleton,  has  at 
his  museum  this  week  the  only  living  rival  of  'Scully,' " 
put  in  the  Agent.  "  Remember  '  Scully,'  don't  you  ?  I 
don't  know  whether  '  Scully '  is  still  walking  or  not,  but 
I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was.  He  was 
the  champion  pedestrian  of  his  day,  and  he  did  his  per 
egrinating  in  a  South  Clark-street  saloon.  I  believe  the 
track  was  about  two  hundred  laps  to  the  mile.  When 
the  saloon  was  deserted,  Scully  would  sneak  a  little  rest, 
despite  the  assertion  of  the  big  sign  outside  that  '  Scully 
is  still  walking; '  but  when  he  would  hear  the  click  of  the 
front-door  latch,  he  would  be  up  and  off  around  his  little 
tan-bark  track,  as  though  he  had  been  at  it  all  his  life.  I 
believe  that  he  walked  there  for  over  a  year,  but  the 
associations  were  too  much  for  him,  and  in  time  it  went 
from  '  Scully  is  still  walking '  to  '  Scully  is  a  walking 
still.'  I  hear  that  this  man  of  Kohl's — Snyder,  of  In 
diana — could  not  quit  walking  if  he  wanted  to.  What  a 
pie  he  would  have  had,  had  he  resided  over  on  the  West 
Side  during  the  street-car  strike  !  He  shaves  while  he 
walks,  they  say,  but  I'd  like  to  see  a  barber  follow  him 
up  and  try  to  cut  his  hair.  Tough  job,  that." 


158  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  I  heard  one  the  other  day  on  our  young  friend  '  Sam'l 
of  Posen '  Curtis,"  said  the  Reporter.  "A  week  or  so 
ago,  his  manager,  Charlie  Mendum,  was  approached  in 
the  Hoffman  House  bar,  in  New  York,  by  several  of  the 
choice  spirits  technically  known  as  'the  gang,'  and 
informed  by  them  that  a  running-horse  had  just  been 
named  after  his  star,  M.  B.  Curtis,  and  that  that  after 
noon  the  animal  had  won  a  race  on  the  Guttenberg,  N. 
J.,  track.  At  first,  Charlie  was  loath  to  believe  this,  but 
he  was  assured  that  it  was  a  fact.  Then  he  hunted  up 
Curtis,  and  imparted  the  good  news.  The  actor  was 
delighted.  He  said  it  had  always  been  the  height  of 
his  ambition  to  have  a  race-horse  named  after  him — 
especially  a  winning  race-horse;  so  he  opened  several 
bottles  of  White  Seal  for  the  aforesaid  'gang.'  After 
showing  his  appreciation  of  the  honor  in  this  manner,  he 
started  off  for  the  pool-room  to  personally  inspect  the 
blackboard  record  of  his  namesake's  victory.  When 
he  reached  the  place,  one  glance  at  the  big  board 
told  the  sad  tale.  Chalked  up  in  great  letters,  and 
encircled  by  the  winning  ring,  was  the  legend:  'Big 
Head,  first.'  Everyone  appreciated  the  joke  excepting 
'  M.  B.'  himself.  He  is  rather  touchy  .on  the  size  of  his 

cranium." 

*  * 
* 

The  Agent  had  sneaked  the  Purveyor  off  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  bar,  and  was  indulging  in  a  mysteri 
ous  conversation  with  him.  He  wanted  to  borrow  a 
dress-suit  to  wear  at  the  opera.  All  he  desired,  in  fact, 
was  a  dress-coat,  as  he  believed  he  could  turn  in  his 
dark  vest,  and  hardly  thought  his  plum-colored  pants 
would  show,  in  a  box.  Had  he  not  gone  too  far,  and 
endeavored  to  carry  the  idea  that  he  was  to  sit  in  a  box, 
he  would  have  been  all  right;  but  at  this,  the  Purveyor 


A    HORROWED    DRESS-SUIT.  159 

turned  the  sizzling  seltzer-bottle  full  upon  him,  after 
which  the  members  followed  him  out  on  to  Clark  street, 
and  helped  him  to  comb  the  seltzer  icicles  out  of  his 
whiskers. 


XVII. 

BARN-STORMERS  ON  THE  ROAD — The  Agent  Falls  in  with  a  Company 
of  Minstrels  at  a  One-Night  Stand— Rural  Burnt-Cork  Artists — 
The  Ancient  Order  of  Hats — A  Railroad  Wreck — The  Actor  at 
the  Stock  Yards — Jack  Saville's  Cigars— Billy  Crane  and  the  Ter 
rapin — A  Mind  Cure. 

"You  will  remember  that  we  were  speaking  of  one- 
night  stand  experiences  at  a  recent  meeting,"  said  the 
Agent,  as  the  members  of  the  Club  took  their  places  in 
the  Usual  Resort  last  evening.  "  Well,"  he  continued,  "  I 
was  among  the  small  towns  this  week,  and  I  want  to  tell 
you  about  a  troupe  I  ran  across.  It  was  a  minstrel 
troupe,  but  I  will  not  give  you  the  name  of  it,  as  I  am 
not  yet  tired  of  living.  I  chanced  to  be  waiting  at  a 
small  station,  on  the  look-out  for  a  train,  which  I  subse 
quently  learned  was  firmly  anchored  in  a  snow-drift 
somewhere  up  the  road.  The  place  I  was  at  was  a  junc 
tion,  and,  about  two  A.  M.,  a  train  on  the  cross-road  toiled 
in,  all  covered  with  ice  and  snow,  which  told  of  a  fierce 
battle  with  the  elements.  When  this  train  stopped,  it 
disgorged  the  troupe  I  speak  of,  which  had  played  the 
evening  before  at  a  small  town  some  twenty  miles  off. 
As  the  '  troupers '  came  into  the  station  where  I  sat,  they 
were  a  sorry-looking  lot — cold,  hungry,  and  travel-worn; 
but  each  man  wore  that  unmistakable  badge  of  min 
strelsy,  yclept  a  plug  hat.  These  hats,  in  aggregation, 
might  have  served  to  illustrate  the  evolution  of  the  mod 
ern  silk  tile  from  the  much-abused  accordeon.  The 
specimen  worn  by  the  gentleman  who  carried  the 
extremely  large  violin  would  represent  the  musical 

1  1  (161) 


162  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

instrument  aforesaid,  and  through  the  troupe  the  form 
and  condition  improved  slightly,  until  the  manager 
appeared  with  a  fairly  good  and  presentable  'dicer.' 

"  These  hats,"  the  Agent  went  on,  "all  bore  unmis 
takable  evidences  of  a  very  severe  winter,  and  they 
formed  by  far  the  best  portion  of  the  troupe's  attire, 
considered  as  a  whole.  Of  course  the  manager's  over 
coat  boasted  of  a  fur  collar  and  cuffs,  but  the  fur  had 
deserted  the  hide  in  several  places.  The  distance  of  the 
extremities  of  the  troupe's  trousers  from  the  floor  would 
have  aggregated  many  feet  in  the  measurement — in  fact, 
if  knee-breeches  were  in  style,  the  members  would  have 
had  to  sacrifice  but  very  little  cloth  to  be  strictly  en  regie. 
Large  rents  appeared  in  conspicuous  portions  of  all  the 
garments,  and  there  was  a  general  air  of  dissolution 
about  the  entire  gang  that  was  painful  to  contemplate. 
They  came  in  and  hugged  the  stove  with  great  fervor, 
after  piling  up  their  scanty  hand-baggage  and  battered 
musical  instruments  in  one  corner  of  the  waiting-room. 
The  manager  went  up  to  the  station  agent  to  inquire 
about  the  train  they  desired  to  catch;  and  when  he 
informed  his  cohorts,  a  moment  later,  that  there  were 
chances  of  their  being  obliged  to  remain  where  they  were 
all  night,  they  said  not  a  word  in  reply,  but  proceeded  to 
lie  down  upon  the  bare  floor,  around  the  stove,  to  seek 
slumber.  One  poor  minstrel  wore  a  pair  of  very  sheer 
trousers,  and  in  his  vain  efforts  to  woo  Morpheus  he  dis 
closed  the  additional  sad  fact  that  nothing  intervened 
between  them  and  his  bare  legs — and  the  thermometer 
outside  twenty  degrees  below  zero,  at  that.  Along  about 
daylight,  this  same  young  minstrel  awoke  from  his  fitful 
slumber,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  wonder,  in  his  artless, 
burnt-cork  way,  whether  'the  old  man'  would  give  them 
a  breakfast  or  not.  The  '  old  man '  finally  did  gather 


A    RAILROAD    WRECK.  163 

his  forces,  and  trotted  them  over  to  the  hotel,  where  he 
gave  them  a  meal.  For  this  they  appeared  truly  grateful. 
The  troupe  was  obliged  to  wait  until  eleven  A.  M.  for  a 
train,  and  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  obliged  to  accom 
pany  them  to  the  next  town  in  the  caboose  of  a  way 
freight.  In  spite  of  all,  they  seemed  a  happy  party, 
though.  One  over-worked  plug  of  chewing-tobacco 
passed  from  hand  to  hand,  also  from  hand  to  mouth,  and 
a  single  copy  of  the  Clipper  was  eagerly  devoured  in  turn 
by  those  who  could  read.  At  the  next  town,  they  had  to 
walk  a  very  cold  mile  to  another  depot,  to  catch  the 
train  for  the  place  they  were  to  appear  in  that  evening; 
and  they  could  not  pull  their  plug  hats  down  over  their 
ears,  either.  I  tell  you,  boys,  you  know  but  little  of 
show-life  in  one-night  stands." 

*  * 
* 

"Coming  back  from  Detroit,  the  other  day,  I  fell  in 
with  the  Agent,"  remarked  the  Manager;  "and  it's 
mighty  lucky  we're  here,  as  we  had  a  smash-up  on  our 
way  back.  We  had  an  end  section  in  the  sleeper,  on  the 
late  train  out  of  the  Michigan  town,  and  I  slept  on  the 
main  floor,  while  the  Agent  occupied  the  corner  room 
upstairs.  About  one  A.  M.,  I  was  awakened  from  a  sound 
slumber  by  a  bump,  and  by  muttered  imprecations  from 
above.  It  appeared  that  the  air-brake  hose  from  the 
engine  had  collapsed;  and  while  we  were  standing  still,  a 
freight-train  had  endeavored  to  get  ahead  of  us,  and  beat 
us  into  Chicago.  But  as  there  was  only  one  track,  this 
attempt  was  a  dismal  failure,  and  our  sleeper  had  gone 
forward  into  the  smoking  compartment  of  the  next  car 
ahead,  in  an  effort  to  get  out  of  the  freight's  way.  The 
Agent,  who  is  always  the  rabid  base-ball  crank,  stuck  his 
head  out  of  the  upper  room,  and  asked  me  whether  I 
would  call  it  a  base-hit  or  an  error.  He  declared,  in 


164  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

accents  wild,  that  his  head  had  been  shot  up  against  the 
partition,  and  that  the  consequent  bump  on  the  top  of  it 
was  enlarging  every  moment.  Remembering  the  con 
dition  he  was  in,  when  he  retired,  I  told  him  it  was  not 
the  bump  that  made  his  head  large,  and  I  advised  him 
to  dress  himself.  In  a  moment,  he  called  down  to  me 
that  when  he  retired  he  had  carefully  folded  up  his  panta 
loons  and  placed  them  at  the  foot  of  his  berth,  but  the 
shock  of  the  collision  had  put  them  on.  I  was  too 
busily  engaged  in  dressing  myself  to  tell  him  how  fiercely 
I  hated  a  liar.  Pretty  soon  we  succeeded  in  getting  out 
of  our  battered  car,  via  a  sleeping-car  ladder  from  the 
rear  platform,  and  surveyed  the  wreck  from  the  vantage- 
point  of  a  Michigan  prairie.  A  few  moments  later,  the 
Agent  tore  wildly  back  into  our  sleeper,  and  came  out 
again  with  a  huge  bottle  in  his  hand.  He  supposed  it 
was  full  of  reviving  cocktails;  but  it  was  empty,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  content  himself  by  chewing  upon  a  piece 
of  lemon-peel  he  had  saved  from  the  wreck.  We  went 
forward  into  another  sleeper  then,  and  were  soon  sound 
asleep,  dreaming  of  our  narrow  escape,  and  rolling  along 
toward  Chicago." 

"You  know  the  Actor  has  a  friend  in  the  First  Regi 
ment,"  put  in  the  Reporter,  "and  he  went  out  to  the 
Stock  Yards  the  other  day  to  call  on  him.  He's  out  there 
defending  property  against  the  strikers.  Well,  when  the 
Actor  started  for  home  again,  someone  yelled  '  Scab!'  and 
in  a  minute  there  was  a  mob  at  the  heels  of  the  flying 
innocent.  His  mistake  was  in  running  at  all;  but  once 
started,  he  had  to  keep  on,  and  he  would  have  been  badly 
treated  had  not  two  officers  rescued  him,  and  conducted 
him  to  the  city  limits.  Before  he  consented  to  allow 
his  preservers  to  leave,  him,  he  insisted  upon  purchasing 


JACK  SAVILLE'S  CIGARS.  105 

numberless  beers;  and  when  I  discovered  him,  townward 
bound  on  a  State-street  car,  he  was  busily  engaged  in 
gazing  frantically  at  the  company's  posted  rules,  and  try 
ing  to  read  them  straight.  After  several  vain  efforts  in 
this  direction,  he  informed  me  that  the  rules  were  simply 
idiotic;  and  in  support  of  this  startling  statement,  he  read 
one  like  this:  *  Passengers  will  please  not  spit  on  the  floor 
nor  put  their  feet  on  the  seats  of  the  car  except  at  the 
further  crossing  or  in  the  middle  of  long  blocks  where 
sign  is  placed.7  The  Actor  read  this  over  twice,  very 
painfully,  and  as  the  car  was  then  directly  in  the  middle 
of  a  long  block,  he  expectorated  in  a  vague,  uncertain, 
and  promiscuous  manner.  Such  a  rule,  he  declared,  was 
the  acme  of  idiocy.  Pretty  soon,  the  car  paused  at  the 
crossing  to  allow  a  freight  engineer  to  back  up  and  start 
his  train  four  times,  and  the  Actor  didn't  know  why  the 
man  next  to  him  laughed  out  loud  when  he  asked  me: 
4  What's  the  matter  ?  Are  they  watering  the  horses  ? ' 
Then  he  fell  into  a  light  doze  as  the  grip-man  caught  the 
cable  again.  When  he  awoke,  he  said  he  felt  ill;  and  he 
glared  out  of  the  window,  and  suggested  that  we  go  into 
6  that  drug-store'  there  and  get  a  bracer.  I  told  him  that 
'that  drug-store'  was  composed  of  a  row  of  red  flannel 
lanterns  on  a  dirt-heap  along  the  track.  After  this  break, 
he  succumbed,  and  allowed  me  to  inter  him  in  his  fold 
ing-bed." 


*  * 
* 


"  The  head  which  he  doubtless  was  owner  of  the  fol 
lowing  morning,  reminds  me  of  the  head  Jack  Saville 
once  acquired  through  bad  cigars,"  said  the  Professor. 
"  Jack  plays  the  genteel  heavy  part  in  Helen  Dauvray's 
piece,  *  One  of  Our  Girls,'  and  in  one  of  his  scenes  he 
comes  on  coolly  puffing  a  cigar.  Soon  after  he  began  to 
play  the  part,  he  went  to  Manager  Hayden  and  told  him 


166  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

that  the  cigars  furnished  him  for  this  particular  scene,  by 
'the  property-man/ were  fairly  strangling  him  by  their 
rankness,  and  he  implored  him  to  purchase  for  his  use  a 
box  of  at  least  three-for-a-quarter  torches.  Jack  became 
so  importunate  on  this  point  that  finally,  in  Boston,  Man 
ager  Hayden  promised  to  buy  him  a  box  of  '  daisies.' 
Accordingly,  he  went  to  a  friend  of  his,  who  is  a  cigar 
manufacturer,  and  had  a  special  brand  of  cigars  made. 
Saville  lights  the  cigar  just  before  he  makes  his  entrance, 
and  when  he  exits,  a  few  moments  later,  he  has  consumed 
but  about  half  an  inch  of  it.  The  special  cigar  which 
Hayden  had  made  for  Saville  was  composed  of  about 
three-quarters  of  an  inch  of  the  best  Havana  tobacco, 
while  the  rest  was  of  a  most  appalling  quality  of  the 
weed.  Saville  heartily  thanked  his  manager  for  the 
cigars,  and  he  placed  them  in  the  bottom  of  his  wardrobe 
trunk,  beyond  the  reach  of  Joe  Whiting,  who  dresses  with 
him.  '  Now  this  is  something  like,  my  boy,'  he  said  to  Joe 
that  evening  as  he  lit  the  '  fragrant  Havana'  tip  of  his 
cigar,  and  went  on  the  stage.  After  his  exit,  he  carefully 
extinguished  the  torch,  and  filed  it  away  in  his  'make-up' 
box  for  future  reference.  At  the  close  of  the  performance, 
he  reproduced  the  weed,  and  relighted  it  for  an  enjoyable 
smoke  on  his  way  to  the  hotel.  Then  it  was  that  the  ple 
beian  body  of  the  cigar  began  to  get  in  its  deadly  work, 
and  the  awful  fumes  made  the  actor  gasp  for  breath.  The 
next  day,  he  related  his  peculiar  and  annoying  experience 
to  Manager  Hayden,  who  informed  him  that  the  finest 
cigars  were  spoiled  when  once  extinguished.  Until  the 
entire  box  was  used  up,  Saville  consumed  one  of  those  to 
bacco  pousse  cafes  every  evening,  and  he  never  dropped." 

#  # 
* 

"  I  see  that  our  friend  Billy  Crane,  the  comedian,  is 
due  here  soon,"  said  the  Agent.     "  Billy  is  a  great  epi- 


A    MIND    CURE.  167 

cure,  you  know,  and  his  favorite  dish  is  terrapin.  Even 
his  awful  dyspepsia  is  forced  to  the  wall  when  there  is  a 
dish  of  terrapin  around.  While  he  was  playing  in  New 
ark,  N.  J.,  not  long  ago,  his  friend  Ed  Harris,  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  Genesee  House,  in  Buffalo,  sent  the 
comedian  a  can  of  prepared  terrapin  with  his  compli 
ments.  Of  course,  Billy  was  delighted  with  the  gift,  and 
he  spent  the  entire  afternoon  in  sending  waiters  and  bell 
boys  to  the  cook's  domain  to  tell  him  just  how  to  heat 
the  insect,  and  to  warn  him  to  add  nothing  to  the  dish 
but  a  glass  of  the  very  finest  sherry.  Then  he  invited  a 
friend  to  dine  with  him,  informing  him  of  the  delicacy 
to  be  anticipated,  and  when  they  entered  the  dining- 
room  and  were  approached  by  a  waiter,  they  joined  in 
agreeing  that  terrapin  was  good  enough  for  them,  and 
they  cared  for  nothing  else.  Pretty  soon,  back  came  the 
waiter,  staggering  under  the  weight  of  a  two-gallon 
tureen  of  soup.  The  green  hotel  cook  had  taken  the 
prepared  terrapin  and  added  water,  butter,  salt,  and  pep 
per.  Crane  tore  his  hair  and  pranced  all  over  the  dining- 
room  in  his  anguish;  but  there  was  no  terrapin.  That 
night,  after  the  performance,  Billy  dropped  into  the  hotel 
bar  for  a  night-cap,  and  found  the  porter  serving  out  his 
terrapin  soup  as  a  midnight  free  lunch.  This  was  the 
last  straw,  and  the  comedian  threw  up  both  hands.  He 
never  tried  terrapin  again  in  a  queer  hotel." 


* 
* 


"Of  course  it's  a  great  scheme,"  the  Purveyor  was 
heard  to  say.  He  had  been  talking  with  the  Agent  on 
the  quiet.  "  It's  on  the  square,  too,  and  you  can  just 
bet  your  sweet  life  there  is  really  such  a  thing  as  the 
'mind  cure.'  Now  suppose,  for  instance,  that  you  were 
possessed  of  a  hallucination  that  you  could  get  a  drink 
here  without  settling  for  it  with  cash  in  advance.  That 


168  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

would  signify -a  diseased  imagination  in  its  worst  stage. 
At  this  point,  I  bring  my  powerful  mind  to  bear,  in  a 
strong  effort  to  effect  a  cure.  All  this  time,  you  firmly 
believe  you  will  win  the  drink  on  credit.  I  think  you 
won't.  My  mind  is  more  powerful  by  several  degrees 
than  yours;  hence  I  cure  you  of  the  hallucination  com 
pletely.  Savvy  ?  That's  the  *  mind  cure '  you  hear  so 
much  about.  Now  for  another  instance.  You  ducks 
think  you  want  to  remain  here  after  twelve  o'clock.  I 
fix  it  in  my  mind  that  you  can  not,  and  I  cure  you 
completely  and  absolutely.  See  ?  We  will  now  order  a 
turnout.  If  you  refuse  to  turn  out,  I  think  I  can  per 
suade  the  gas  to  do  so ; "  and  the  Turnovers  consented 
to  turn  out  without  further  ado. 


XVIII. 

To  CAPTURE  JAPAN — The  Agent  Exploits  a  Great  Scheme,  and  is 
Anxious  to  Carry  it  Out — An  American  Village — "  Hanky- 
Panky"  Johnson  at  the  Sea-Shore— Will  Daboll's  Hard  Luck — 
George  Morris'  Boy — The  Small-Town  Magician — Louis  Harri 
son's  Joke  on  Crane — McConnell  at  Indianapolis — A  Box-Office 
Primary — A  Mean  Man  and  a  Corpse. 

When  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  met,  last 
evening,  in  the  Usual  Resort,  the  Agent  and  the  Purveyor 
were  found  hatching  another  of  their  numerous  Utopian 
schemes.  The  successful  advent  of  the  Japanese  Village 
at  the  Columbia  Theater  had  given  the  Agent  the  idea,  and 
he  held  that  there  was  great  money  in  it.  He  proposed 
to  organize  and  take  over  to  Japan  an  American  Village, 
in  order  to  get  good  and  even  with  the  strange  people  of 
that  far-off  country,  by  giving  them  an  exhibit  of  the  arts 
and  industries  of  this  broad  land.  A  Board  of  Trade 
friend  of  his  had  agreed  to  go  along  and  sell  puts  and 
calls  on  wheat  and  corn.  "This  alone,"  said  the  Agent, 
"  would  make  a  big  hit  with  the  Japs."  In  a  second  booth, 
the  Purveyor  would  dispense  American  mixed  drinks;  and 
in  the  third,  there  would  be  a  covey  of  pool-sellers  and 
book-makers.  In  one  corner,  an  expert  gentleman  with  a 
perspiration  cloth  would  endeavor  to  make  a  collection, 
of  Japanese  coins,  with  three  cards  and  a  shell  game. 
Other  well-known  American  arts  and  industries  like 
these  would  make  up  the  village,  and  tne  show  would  be 
heavily  billed  with  United  States  three-sheet  posters  in 
four  colors  and  a  tint.  The  Agent  said  that  he  intended 
to  go  ahead  of  the  show  himself  and  make  rates  for  the 

(169) 


170  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

company  at  the  Japanese  hotels.  His  vast  experience 
with  divers  and  sundry  "  Mikado  "  companies  had  given 
him  an  insight  into  Japanese  habits  and  customs,  and  he 
had  no  doubt  that  his  own  career  in  Japan  would  be  the 
one  crowning  triumph  of  the  American  Village.  His 
scheme  was  finally  laid  over  for  one  week,  because  the 

members  deemed  it  too  weak. 

*  * 
* 

"  Our  old  friend,  H.  Waldo  Johnson,  or  '  Hanky 
Panky,'  will-  be  in  our  midst  again  soon,"  said  the  Actor; 
"  and  if  the  stories  I  hear  of  him  are  true,  it  will  be  nec 
essary  that  *  our  midst '  be  of  pretty  good  size,  as  they  do 
say  that  his  present  girth  is  something  enormous.  This 
is  the  result  of  lolling  life  away  at  the  seaside.  He  and 
Lou  Weed,  of  the  New  York  Casino,  lolled  it  away 
together  all  last  summer.  'Hanky'  used  to  wear  a 
straw  hat  with  the  rim  chopped  off,  and  a  drooping 
'  Mikado '  feather  in  the  back  of  it,  and  he  used  to  call 
himself  '  Chief  of  the  Laughing  Water.'  When  asked  why 
he  had  adopted  this  fanciful  name,  he  would  say,  '  Because 
I  laugh  at  water.'  One  bright  day  he  went  out  shooting 
with  a  party  of  friends,  and  in  his  long  rubber  boots  he 
deftly  concealed  several  flasks  which  were  not  empty. 
When  the  party  reached  the  happy  hunting-grounds, 
*  Hanky'  jumped  into  a  boat,  with  his  boots  and  breech 
loader,  and  rowed  out  into  mid-stream.  From  behind  a 
clump  of  trees  on  the  bank,  his  friends  watched  his 
movements.  First,  he  tested  each  one  of  his  flasks;  then, 
he  pulled  up  his  gun  and  fired  it  aimlessly  into  space,  and 
then  he  tested  the  flasks  again.  He  continued  wasting 
ammunition  and  testing  flasks  until  his  aim  got  so  low 
that  his  friends  feared  he  might  add  murder  to  his  other 
crimes,  and  they  sent  one  of  their  number  to  row  out  and 
tow  him  ashore.  The  next  day  he  took  a  sail  on  Billy 


WILL  DABOLL'S  HARD  LUCK.  171 

Crane's  yacht,  and  during  the  afternoon  he  acquired  one 
of  his  sullen  fits.  The  comedian  vainly  tried  in  every 
way  to  cheer  him  up,  and  finally  he  appealed  to  his  finer 
feelings  by  asking:  '"  Hanky,"  will  you  have  just  one 
drink  with  me  ? '  The  portly  agent  pulled  himself 
together,  gazed  at  his  host  a  moment,  and  then  solemnly 

replied:    '  I  will,  Bill,  if  I  can't  get  two.'  " 

*  * 
* 

"  Will  Daboll,  who  recently  played  Ravvy  in  '  Er- 
minie,'  at  Hooley's,  claims  to  have  been  cursed  by  the 
hardest  luck  of  anyone  on  the  road,  this  season,"  remarked 
the  Agent,  who  had  come  out  of  his  Japanese  trance. 
''While  in  Cincinnati,  he  occupied  a  front  room  at  the 
hotel,  and  one  night  there  was  a  big  fire  just  across  the 
street.  The  heat  was  intense,  but  the  window  in  DabolPs 
room  was  the  only  one  on  the  hotel  front  that  was  broken 
by  it.  The  weather  was  bitter  cold,  and  the  chill  wind 
played  tag  around  the  comedian's  couch  until  morning. 
The  second  day  thereafter,  Will  was  aroused  at  eight 
A.  M.  by  a  loud  noise  out  in  the  hall,  and  he  jumped  out  of 
bed  and  ran  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  He  dis 
covered  that  the  man  occupying  the  room  adjoining  his 
had  blown  out  his  brains,  and  this  awful  sight  spoiled 
his  appetite  for  breakfast — at  a  high-priced  hotel,  too. 
He  resolved  then  and  there  never  again  to  go  out  of  his 
room  for  the  purpose  of  investigating  mysterious  noises, 
for  fear  of  losing  a  meal.  One  night,  soon  afterward,  he 
found,  before  going  on  the  stage,  that  there  was  a  rip  in 
his  coat.  He  had  some  thread,  and  he  went  to  every 
member  of  the  company  to  get  a  needle.  None  could 
be  found,  so  he  had  to  temporarily  pin  up  the  rent  in  his 
garment.  When  he  went  upon  the  stage,  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  run  a  needle  into  his  foot.  Now  what  do 
you  think  of  that  for  hard  luck  ?  Pretty  tough,  eh  ?  " 


172  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  It  doesn't  always  take  an  artist  to  make  a  hit,"  said 
the  Professor.  "When  our  old  friend  George  Morris 
had  his  new  melodrama,  'A  Legal  Wrong,'  up  at  the 
People's  Theater  awhile  ago,  there  was  a  hit  made  one 
night,  but  it  wasn't  made  by  a  player.  The  cyclone 
scene  in  the  play  occupies  the  full  stage.  The  wings 
are  removed,  and  what  is  technically  known  as  a  '  sea 
cloth '  takes  their  place.  Its  violent  flapping  raises  all 
the  dust  on  the  stage.  On  this  particular  night,  the  scene 
had  reached  the  point  where  a  terrific  storm  is  raging; 
everything  is  confusion;  the  hero  is  bending  over  the 
sinking  vessel's  bows,  frantically  striving  to  retain  a  sal 
vation  hold  on  his  sweetheart,  who  has  been  washed 
overboard,  and  rescued  by  him;  everybody's  nerves  are 
strained  to  the  utmost  in  anxiety  for  the  result.  Just 
then,  Mr.  Morris,  behind  the  scenes,  directed  the  stage- 
boy  to  bri-ng  in  water  and  sprinkle  the  dust  down,  as  the 
ladies  were  choking.  This  boy  was  just  making  his 
debut  as  stage  errant  that  night.  Not  exactly  grasping 
the  situation,  instead  of  sprinkling  an  invisible  point,  he 
walked  deliberately  out  before  the  foot-lights,  gazed 
around  a  full  minute,  and  then  began  quietly  spreading 
the  water  with  one  hand,  as  though  he  was  watering 
cabbages.  The  house  was  full,  and  it  took  the  audi 
ence  a  moment  to  wonder  if  it  '  was  in  the  programme' 
— then  they  broke  out.  It  was  the  most  tremendous 
applause  I  ever  heard.  Men  got  up  on  their  seats  and — 
yes,  yelled.  By  the  time  the  unfortunate  boy  had  run 
the  gauntlet  of  stage  hands,  he  was  completely  broken 
up.  They  had  to  drop  the  curtain  on  the  scene. 
When  it  was  raised  again,  the  audience  renewed  its 
applause,  and  cried,  '  Bring  out  the  boy  ! '  and  '  Trot 
forth  the  sprinkler  ! '  That  boy  made  the  stroke  of  the 
season.  ' 


THE    SMALL-TOWN    MAGICIAN.  173 

"Speaking  of  unintentional  hits,"  broke  in  the  Actor, 
"  I  met  an  old  friend  of  mine  who — well,  may  be  he's 
what  you  might  call  a  *  fakir.'  He's  something  of  a 
magician,  and  in  this  capacity  he  sneaks  out  on  the  road 
with  his  wife  once  in  awhile,  and  they  raid  the  small 
towns.  Of  course,  when  they  do  this,  there  are  but  two 
in  the  *  company;'  but  you  should  see  their  printing! 
They  used  to  call  themselves  '  The  Gigantic  American 
Silver  Show/  and  give  away  silver-plated  nut-picks  and 
diamond  necklaces  to  their  audiences — especially  the 
nut-picks.  The  last  time  they  went  on  an  expedition,  my 
friend  told  me  they  styled  themselves 'The  Mammoth 
World  of  Wonders,'  and  they  advertised  that  every  indi 
vidual  in  the  audience  would  be  given  a  'useful  present.' 
One  night  they  struck  a  tough  mining-town,  and  they 
ran  short  of  presents.  They  had  been  distributing  pen 
holders,  slate-pencils,  etc.,  when  the  supply  gave  out,  and 
a  riot  seemed  imminent.  But  my  friend  was  equal  to 
the  occasion.  He  sent  his  wife  out  to  sing  '  When  the 
Robins  Nest  Again/  and  then  he  sneaked  out  via  the  back 
door,  ran  down  to  the  post-office,  and  purchased  a  hun 
dred  postal-cards.  These  he  distributed,  on  his  return 
to  the  hall,  claiming  that  they  came  under  the  head  of 
'useful  presents;'  and  'The  World  of  Wonders'  escaped 
from  the  town  the  following  morning  at  daybreak." 

*  * 

* 

"  Something  was  said  awhile  ago  about  Billy  Crane, 
the  comedian,"  said  the  Agent.  "He  had  a  queer  expe 
rience  in  Philadelphia  recently,  by  the  way,  when  he  was 
playing  there.  The  day  after  he  opened,  he  received  a 
beautifully  written  letter  complimenting  him  upon  his 
artistic  performance  of  Falstaff.  It  was  signed  'Your 
true  friend.'  Of  course  the  comedian  laughed  over  the 
epistle,  as  he  receives  many  such.  But  the  next  day  he 


174  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

received  a  second  letter  from  this  unknown  admirer,  in 
which  he  said  that  he  had  been  sadly  shocked  by  seeing 
him,  after  the  performance,  at  the  Continental  Hotel  bar, 
'drinking  with  a  roystering  crowd  of  actors.'  Now  this 
rather  nettled  Billy,  but  he  said  nothing  about  it.  On 
the  following  afternoon,  he  sat  into  a  little  poker-game 
with  Mestayer  and  a  group  of  choice  spirits,  and  his  sur 
prise  may  be  imagined  when  he  received  a  third  note 
from  his  'true  friend,'  advising  him  not  to  squander,  in 
such  a  profligate  way,  the  money  due  his  lawful  wife. 
At  this  the  comedian  warmed  up,  and  engaged  detectives 
to  trace  the  writer  of  the  letters.  After  his  performance 
that  evening,  he  visited  a  local  variety  theater  to  witness 
a  glove-fight,  and  was  made  warmer  the  next  day  by 
another  epistle,  in  which  the  mysterious  correspondent 
expressed  surprise  that  Mr.  Crane  should  visit  such  brutal 
exhibitions.  These  letters  annoyed  the  comedian  greatly. 
The  only  one  he  showed  them  to  was  his  friend  and 
brother  comedian,  Louis  Harrison,  who  advised  Crane 
to  kill  the  writer  on  sight.  Two  days  later,  came  another 
letter  upbraiding  the  comedian  for  'discussing  his 
epistles  with  an  actor  in  a  common  bar-room.'  Crane 
finally  left  for  Washington,  without  learning  the  name  of 
his  'true  friend,'  and  he  never  found  it  out  until  a  Phila 
delphia  paper  came  out  with  a  two-column  article  about 
the  affair,  with  copies  of  all  the  letters,  which  wound  up 
like  this:  'Comedian  Crane  doubtless  is  unaware  of  the 
fact  that  his  "true  friend"  is  none  other  than  his  old 
friend  Comedian  Louis  Harrison.'  I'll  bet  Crane  kills 

Harrison  when  he  sees  him." 

*  * 
* 

"Will  McConnell  returned  from  Indianapolis  yester 
day  morning,"  put  in  the  Professor;  "  and  his  visit  to 
the  Hoosier  capital  appeared  to  amuse  him  greatly.  One 


A    BOX-OFFICE    PRIMARY.  175 

night,  while  there,  he  went  up  the  street  to  witness  a  con 
flagration,  and  he  arrived  at  the  scene  before  the  fire- 
engines  came.  Finally,  one  steamer  rattled  up,  and  the 
firemen  in  charge  of  it  dismounted,  sat  down  upon  the 
curbstone  in  front  of  the  burning  building,  and  watched 
the  fierce  tongues  of  flame  lap  it  up.  What  ?  Yes,  Mc- 
Connell  said  *  tongues  of  flame.'  After  a  time,  Will  grew 
impatient  at  the  delay,  and  asked  one  of  the  idle  firemen 
why  they  did  not  go  to  work  and  extinguish  the  blaze. 
'  You  bet  your  life  there's  no  jealousy  in  this  department,' 
was  the  reply.  *  We  don't  go  to  work  until  all  the  rest  of 
the  boys  get  here  ! '  And  Will  declares  that  when  '  the 
rest  of  the  boys  '  got  there,  there  was  nothing  left  of  the 
building  excepting  the  cellar  and  a  smudge.  The  day  fol 
lowing,  he  was  walking  along  the  main  street  of  the  town 
with  a  friend.  The  weather  was  very  hot.  A  stranger  ran 
wildly  by  them  in  a  mad  chase  after  a  receding  street 
car.  Said  McConnell's  Indianapolis  friend,  as  he 

mopped  his  brow:  *  Just  look  at  that fool  running 

for  a  car  !  I  wonder  if  he  doesn't  know  that  there  will 
be  another  one  along  in  ten  minutes.'  Will  declares 
that  Indianapolis  and  her  people  are  slower  than  their 

time." 

*  * 
* 

"  I  stopped  in  front  of  the  Chicago  Opera  House  yes 
terday  afternoon,  to  take  a  look  at  the  crowd  of  people 
buying  tickets  for  the  Booth  engagement,"  said  the  Man 
ager,  "  when  along  came  a  seedy-looking  chap,  who  looked 
the  people  over,  and  dropped  in  at  the  tail  end  of  the 
line,  with  an  expectant  expression  of  countenance.  As 
he  gradually  neared  the  box-office  window,  he  appeared 
to  grow  worried,  and  he  asked  the  man  immediately  in 
front  of  him  if  he  knew  where  the  'ticket  peddlers  '  were. 
The  man  informed  him  that  he  would  find  them  soon 


176  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

enough,  and  the  seedy  chap  looked  relieved  at  this. 
Pretty  soon,  he  tapped  his  neighbor  again,  and  pointing 
to  a  prominent  citizen  standing  near  the  window,  asked: 
*  Is  that  a  republican  or  a  democratic  challenger  ? '  The 
man  questioned  replied  that  he  was  a  prohibitionist,  he 
thought.  '  That  settles  it,'  said  the  seedy  party.  *  I 
thought  this  was  a  democratic  primary,  but  if  they're  pro 
hibitionists,  I'll  quit — there  isn't  a  drink  in  sight;  '  and 
he  dropped  sadly  out  of  the  line,  with  a  sigh  so  deep 
that  it  chipped  a  piece  off  of  the  court-house  cornice 

across  the  way." 

#  * 

For  some  minutes  the  Agent  had  been  looking  rather 
downcast,  and  when  asked  the  reason,  he  said  that  he 
had  been  pondering  over  the  action  of  a  friend  of  his, 
who  had  proved  himself  the  meanest  man  on  earth. 
This  friend  had  lost  a  brother  recently,  and  had  been 
given  charge  of  the  funeral.  This  brother  had  been 
born  in  Omaha,  but  had  made  St.  Paul  his  home.  His 
death  occurred  here  in  Chicago,  and  his  brother  did  not 
know  which  place  to  take  the  remains  to  for  interment. 
After  thinking  the  matter  over  carefully,  he  had  finally 
decided  to  take  advantage  of  the  cut-rates  offered  excur 
sionists  by  the  Burlington  Road,  and  convey  the  remains 
to  St.  Paul,  selling  the  return  coupon  for  the  corpse  to  a 
scalper  there.  After  voting  this  thrifty  friend  of  the 
Agent  both  the  cake  and  the  gate-money,  the  Club 
adjourned  for  one  week. 


XIX. 

A  WATERBURY  SUIT  OF  CLOTHES — The  Agent  Buys  One,  and  Fool 
ishly  Invests  in  a  Pantaloon-Stretcher — Bad  Case  of  Rip — Billy 
Birch  and  the  Chestnut- Bell — The  Proprietor  Mixes  a  Drink — 
Charlie  Reynolds  and  the  Earthquake — The  New  Young  Actor — 
Dramatic  Agency  Mail — Charlie  Foster's  Bull-Dogs — The  Fat 
Woman  Coughs. 

Just  as  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  had  left  the 
Usual  Resort  at  the  last  meeting,  the  Purveyor  started  to 
wind  up  his  Waterbury  watch,  and  when  they  dropped  m 
to  attend  the  regular  session  last  evening,  he  had  just 
finished  the  task,  and  was  engaged  in  putting  the  time 
piece  back  in  his  pocket.  He  explained  that  he  had  but 
recently  purchased  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  and  the  Water- 
bury  ticker  had  been  presented  to  him  at  the  same  time, 
as  a  sort  of  a  chromo.  Before  he  had  finished  winding 
it  the  first  time,  he  had  worn  out  the  clothes.  Then  he 
had  purchased  a  single  member  of  a  job-lot  of  pants,  and 
they  bagged  so  dreadfully  at  the  knees  in  two  days'  time 
that  it  looked  as  though  he  was  wearing  woven-wire 
bustles  on  his  knee-caps.  As  a  remedy  for  this  dis 
agreeable  deformity,  he  had  purchased,  on  the  advice  of 
an  alleged  friend,  a  patent  pantaloon-stretcher,  war 
ranted  to  reduce  all  swellings  in  the  knees  of  pants. 
Now  this  device  had  been  constructed  for  able-bodied 
trousers,  and  its  effect  on  a  pair  of  the  genus  job-lot 
was  bound  to  be  disastrous;  but  the  Purveyor  did  not 
know  this.  Hence,  when  he  awoke  on  the  morning  after 
he  had  adjusted  the  stretcher  to  the  job-lot  trousers,  as 
per  printed  directions,  he  discovered,  to  his  dismay,  that 
not  only  had  the  aggressive  bagging  at  the  knees  been 

12  (177) 


178  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

removed,  but  that  the  knees  in  their  entirety  had  dis 
appeared,  leaving  a  pair  of  knee-breeches  in  one  vise  of 
the  patent  stretcher,  and  a  pair  ot  impromptu  leggings 
clasped  firmly  in  the  other  end.  This  parting  had  given 
him  pain,  he  remarked  to  the  Agent,  and  he  offered  a 
brand-new  stretcher  for  sale  on  easy  terms. 


*  * 
* 


"  I  heard  one  the  other  day  that  will  bear  repeating,  I 
think,"  said  the  Agent.  "  It  was  on  old  Billy  Birch,  the 
minstrel  man.  It  appears  that  he  desired  some  legal 
advice  in  an  important  matter,  and  his  partner  in  crime, 
little  Charlie  Reed,  steered  him  against  '  Eg '  Jamieson, 
who  attends  to  almost  all  of  the  professional  law  business 
in  town.  Well,  Billy  stated  his  case  to  '  Eg,'  and 
received  the  desired  advice  from  him.  After  the  serious 
portion  of  the  visit  was  over  with,  Billy  started  in  to 
relate  one  of  his  famous  funny  stories,  and  in  a  moment 
the  lawyer  was  all  ears.  In  the  adjoining  room,  there  sat 
a  very  pretty  young  lady,  who  was  hard  at  work  manipu 
lating  a  type-writer;  and  just  as  Birch  arrived  at  the 
point  of  his  narrative,  this  young  girl's  type-writer 
reached  the  end  of  a  line,  and  the  little  warning-bell 
tapped,  of  course.  At  this,  Birch  looked  at  his  friend 
in  a  sort  of  a  discouraged  way,  and  said:  *  Come  on, 
Charlie;  let's  get  out  of  here.  That's  the  second  time 
this  morning  I've  had  that  chestnut-bell  sprung  on 
me.'  It  required  all  of  Jamieson's  eloquence  to  explain 
to  Birch  that  the  bell  attachment  to  the  type-writer  was 
a  regular  thing,  and  was  in  no  way  connected  with  the 
fabled  chestnut-bell.  Since  that  day,  the  bell  has  been 

muffled  when  clients  were  about." 

*  * 

* 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  the  Proprietor's  first 
experience  with  mixed  drinks,"  said  the  Purveyor,  as  he 


THE    PROPRIETOR    MIXES    A    DRINK.  179 

injected  a  modicum  of  Angostura  bitters  into  the  corner 
stone  of  a  cocktail.  "  It  happened  over  at  the  old  place, 
where  we  had  the  sideboard,  this  particular  incident 
did,"  he  continued;  "  and  one  Sunday  afternoon  the 
Assistant  Purveyor  appeared,  to  assume  his  watch,  with 
what  we  would  term  *  a  very  tidy  load.'  This  disgusted 
the  Proprietor,  and,  with  a  very  withering  look,  he  bade 
the  man  with  the  'jag'  go  home  for  a  'snooze,'  as  he 
termed  it.  Now  you  know  that  the  Proprietor  has  had 
but  very  little  experience  in  the  drink-mixing  line,  but 
he  anticipated  a  quiet  Sunday  afternoon,  and  he  shut  his 
teeth  firmly,  in  the  resolve  to  force  his  patrons  to  take 
straight  whisky  or  nothing.  Pretty  soon,  an  absolute 
stranger  dropped  in  and  coolly  called  for  a  cocktail.  The 
Proprietor  looked  at  him  fiercely,  saw  that  he  meant 
business,  and  then  went  to  work.  He  had  often  seen 
me  and  my  assistant  mix  a  cocktail,  so  he  proceeded  to 
squirt  into  a  glass  full  of  cracked  ice  a  dash  of  every 
thing  he  could  find  on  the  sideboard.  He  put  in  pepper 
mint,  Angostura,  Jamaica  ginger,  caracoa,  absinthe, 
benedictine,  and,  in  fact,  the  entire  repertory.  The 
stranger  eyed  him  closely  meantime,  and  when  the 
drink  was  handed  over  as  completed,  he  took  just  a 
suspicious  sip  of  it,  and  then  made  a  wry  face.  The  Pro-. 
prietor,  who  had  been  narrowly  watching  the  effect  of 
his  first  effort  upon  its  victim,  said,  at  this  sign  of  dis 
approval:  'Hold  on,  there!  I  guess  I  forgot  to  put  in  a 
little  lemon,  my  friend.'  But  the  stranger  pulled  his 
glass  away  from  the  outstretched  hand,  and  replied: 
'  Never  mind;  you've  got  enough  in  here,  now  to  poison 
me,  and  I  don't  want  any  more.'  He  finally  downed  it, 
with  an  effort,  but  that  was  the  first  and  last  time  the 
Proprietor  ever  tried  to  mix  a  drink." 


180  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  I've  got  another  drink-story  that  seems  appropriate 
just  now,"  said  the  Agent.  "  In  the  old  Adelphi  days, 
when  poor  Frank  Clynes  ran  the  refectory  below  stairs 
there,  I  dropped  in  one  night,  after  the  performance, 
and  ran  across  Charlie  Reynolds,  the  song-and-dance 
man,  who  had  but  recently  returned  from  San  Francisco. 
I  sat  down  with  him  at  a  convenient  table,  and  he  pro 
ceeded  to  tell  me  of  his  experiences  with  earthquakes 
out  on  the  coast.  In  the  course  of  our  chat,  he  went  on 
to  describe  the  feelings  which  overcame  people  upon  the 
approach  of  the  quake.  The  air  grew  awfully  still,  he 
said;  a  feeling  of  horror  descended  upon  everyone,  and 
conversation  was  carried  on  in  awed  whispers.  One  day 
these  unmistakable  earthquake  symptoms  developed,  and 
Charlie  said  he  looked  for  a  soft  place  in  which  to  fall. 
While  on  this  solemn  quest,  he  met  a  party  of  friends,  and 
a  drink  was  suggested.  They  all  repaired  to  a  neigh 
boring  drinkery,  and  just  as  the  beverages  disappeared 
beyond  their  respective  palates,  the  dreaded  shock  came. 
One  of  the  crowd,  who  had  been  inclosing  numerous 
cocktails  during  the  day,  grabbed  at  the  polished 
mahogany  before  him,  steadied  himself  a  moment, 
gazed  vacantly  at  the  barkeeper,  and  then  asked,  most 
seriously:  '  My  friend,  what  in  thunder  did  you  put  in 

that  drink  of  mine?" 

*  * 
* 

"  There  is  a  young  actor  in  town  this  week  who  holds 
a  good  position  in  his  profession  now,"  said  the  Man 
ager;  "and  I  think  he  fully  deserves  his  place,  as  he  was 
made  to  serve  a  pretty  hard  apprenticeship.  His  tutor, 
by  the  way,  was  young  Tony  Denier,  whose  old  father 
was  well  known  as  a  pantomimist  in  the  old  days.  The 
young  actor  in  question  was  a  member  of  a  good  family 
in  a  certain  town  where  the  pantomime  company  played. 


DRAMATIC    AGENCY    MAIL.  181 

He  was  badly  stage-struck,  and  was  possessed  with  a 
consuming  desire  to  'act  out  on  the  stage-boards.'  With 
this  feeling  uppermost,  he  applied  to  young  Tony,  who 
was  with  the  show,  and  he  agreed  to  put  him  on  the  stage 
in  proper  shape.  Accordingly,  he  was  told  to  call  at  the 
theater  that  evening.  He  did  so,  and  young  Tony  took 
him  in  charge.  Steering  him  down  to  a  dressing-room, 
he  informed  him  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to 
black  up  in  his  first  part;  so  he  anointed  him  with  lamp 
black,  and  'to  make  it  more  realistic,'  covered  him  with 
it  clear  down  to  the  waist.  After  this,  the  ambitious 
young  man  went  upon  the  stage  and  cleverly  enacted  the 
role  of  a  foot-ball  for  the  entire  company.  In  the  last 
act,  a  rope  was  hitched  to  a  belt  about  his  waist,  and  he 
was  drawn  up  to  the  '  borders.'  He  dangled  there  after 
the  final  curtain  fell,  as  the  stage-hands  'forgot'  to 
loosen  the  rope.  He  was  subsequently  ordered  to  come 
down,  in  a  stern,  strong  voice,  by  young  Tony,  as  the 
latter  came  from  his  dressing-room  some  time  later,  and 
he  sorrowfully  expressed  his  inability  to  obey  the  sum 
mons.  Then  he  was  lowered  to  the  stage,  and  he  started 
to  wash  up,  but  the  stubborn  lamp-black  resisted  the 
onslaught  of  soap  and' water.  Young  Tony  secured  the 
fire-hose,  and  played  a  half-inch  stream  on  the  neophyte 
for  awhile.  When  they  got  him  under  control,  they 
sent  him  home,  thinking  him  cured  of  his  craze;  but, 
when  the  troupe  left  town,  the  next  morning,  the  ambi 
tious  young  fellow  was  down  at  the  station  to  see  them 
off,  his  unconquerable  soul  filled  with  a  consuming  long 
ing  for  the  foot-lights,  and  his  eyes  and  ears  filled  with 
the  aforesaid  affectionate  lamp-black." 


*  * 

* 


"  Speaking   of   ambitious   histrions,"  said  the  Actor, 
"  did   you  ever   visit   one   of    these   dramatic   agencies 


182  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

around  town  ?  There  are  several  of  them,  and  they  have 
various  brands  of  actors  and  actresses  on  draught  at  all 
hours.  At  any  time,  they  can  tap  for  a  '  leading  heavy ' 
or  a  'juvenile.'  One  of  these  agents  showed  me  a  let 
ter  the  other  day  from  an  actress.  Here  it  is:  *  North 

Judson,  Ind.,  June  6,  188 — .    Mr. .   Kind  sir: — What 

I  want  to  know  is  this,  have  you  any  opening  for  a  good 
general  biz  Lady.  I  will  be  at  liberty  after  Satderday. 
we  Close  here.  Know  I  dont  want  Just  anything  Just  so 
i  get  a  chance  to  act.  I  want  some  thing  I  can  get  my 
salary.  Thats  what  im  after,  will  work  prettie  cheap 
for  Summer  Season,  dont  want  any  thing  like  you  got 

for  Mrs. ,  The  Gem.    Mayby  you  have  herd  her  speak 

of  me.  can  do  (or  do  at)  moast  any  thing,  have  no 
photo  to  send,  aint  you  sorrie  for  that,  answer  soon 
and  let  me  know  how  mutch  dependance  I  can  putt  in 

you.     very  respectfuley  yours,  .'     How's  that 

for  an  application  ?  " 

* ' 

"  Here  is  another  curiosity  in  the  same  line,"  said  the 
Agent,  "and  I'll  read  it  just  as  it  is  written.  Here  goes: 
'  Philadelphia  July  loth  188 — .  Dear  sir  i  hope  you  will 
excuse  me  for  useing  your  time  but  as  i  seen  your  adver 
tisement  in  the  new  york  Clipper  i  take  up  my  pen  to 
answer  one  of  them  i  am  a  young  man  19  years  old  5  feet 
9  inches  high,  weight  143  pounds  in  the  best  of  health 
always,  well  built  solid  and  possess  a  remarkably  strong 
and  stern  voice  and  can  take  it  down  low  and  easy  at 
times  i  got  good  actions  can  imitate  all  the  leading  actors 
that  come  to  this  city  such  Mr  Oliver  D  Byron  james 
O'neill  harry  lacy  Edmund  collier  Dominick  murry 
Edwin  Thome  John  A  Stevens  George  Carock  and  in  fact 
all  that  i  have  seen  besides  what  other  theaters  i  been  to 
i  go  to  the  national  every  week  while  it  is  open  i  have 


183 

acted  there  two  week  and  great  applause  and  was  offered 
a  job  with  a  company  but  my  mother  took  sick  just  then 
and  I  had  to  throw  up  the  job  besides  acting  at  the 
national  1  have  acted  in  Philadelphia  about  20  Different 
places  in  all  the  concerts  halls  and  places  of  amusement 
there  is  here  i  can  play  either  a  leading  role  villian  or 
detective  i  am  endorsed  all  my  friends  and  all  who  seen 
me  act  and  i  would  have  manager  and  proprietor  of  the 
national  signed  here  if  i  knew  where  they  lived,  i  have 
know  more  to  say  just  now  but  when  you.  hoping  that 

you   will  address  your  for  Me , st    Phila 

Pa.'     Now  what  about  that  ?    Isn't  it  a  corker  ?  " 

*  * 
* 

"  I  see  that  Charlie  Foster  has  had  his  three  bull-dogs 
photographed,"  remarked  the  Night  Clerk.  "Roe,  of 
Robinson  &  Roe,  performed  the  operation,  and  the  dogs 
were  supported  by  their  owner  and  by  young  Frank 
Moynihan,  who  has  gained  much  fame  by  his  stage  por 
traitures  of  Irish  policemen — in  fact,  he  is  termed  '  the 
only  Irish  policeman  on  the  American  stage  to-day.'  Mr. 
Roe,  you  know,  is  rather  a  nervous  man,  and  he  eyed  the 
trio  of  bull-dogs  suspiciously  before  he  began.  Well, 
Charlie  and  Frank  posed  the  three  of  them  on  a  set  rock 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery,  while  Roe  proceeded  to 
draw  a  bead  on  the  group  with  his  camera.  When  all  was 
ready,  he  warned  his  two  amateur  assistants  not  to  med 
dle  with  the  dogs,  and  then  he  asked  Charlie  their  names. 
Obtaining  the  information,  he  seized  the  trigger  of  the 
camera,  and  cried:  'Tip  !  Bob  !  Nell  !  Rats  !  ! '  This  was 
for  the  purpose  of  making  the  dogs  prick  up  their  respect 
ive  ears  and  appear  on  the  alert  in  the  negative,  but  the 
effect  of  it  was  electrical;  the  dogs  bounded  from  the  set 
rock  in  all  directions,  and  Mr.  Roe  left  the  gallery  by  the 
new  instantaneous  process  and  a  side  door.  Pretty  soon, 


184  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

he  cautiously  reinserted  his  head,  and  timidly  inquired: 
*  Will  they  bite  ? '  For  a  few  moments  after  the  first  alarm, 
the  place  was  full  of  dog,  and  camera,  and  set  rock.  Moy- 
nihan  indulged  in  a  fit,  while  Foster  rounded  up  his  live 
stock.  Then  Mr.  Roe  finished  the  operation,  wearing  a 
catcher's  mask  and  carrying  a  lawn-tennis  bat  the  while. 
He  said  it  would  not  be  at  all  necessary  to  bring  the 
dogs  around  to  see  the  proofs,  and  declared  that  he 
would  much  rather  take  a  group  of  chorus-singers  or  a 
dose  of  castor-oil  than  a  trio  of  fierce  bull-dogs  who 
appeared  to  consider  the  word  'Rats'  a  personal  affront." 


*  *- 
* 


Just  here,  the  glasses  behind  the  bar  began  to  rattle 
violently,  and  the  building  shook  beneath  the  feet  of  the 
Club.  The  gas  flickered,  and  the  clock  lost  four  minutes. 
Visions  of  a  Charleston  visitation  arose  before  Turnover 
eyes,  and  the  frightened  Agent  was  at  once  dispatched  to 
ascertain  the  cause  of  the  terrifying  upheaval.  He  soon 
returned  with  the  information  that  the  extremely  large 
and  fleshy  colored  woman  on  exhibition  over  at  Kohl  & 
Middleton's  Museum  had  coughed.  Taking  warning 
by  this,  the  members  all  indulged  freely  in  cough-syrup, 
and  then  adjourned. 


XX. 

SOAP  IN  A  COCKTAIL — The  Purveyor's  Understudy  Attempts  to 
Shave  the  Ice — A  Bad  Break — Edwin  Booth  Shot  At — Jimmy 
Devlin  as  Call-Boy — Will  McConnell's  Abscess — Major  Benton's 
Minstrel  Troupe — Doc  Trimen's  Ball  Match — Harry  Pitt  as  an 
Umpire — Harold  Fosberg's  Acting— Dynamite! 

When  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  dropped  in 
at  the  Usual  Resort  last  evening,  to  attend  the  regular 
weekly  meeting,  the  Purveyor  and  the  Agent  were  found 
engaged  in  a  serious  dispute.  The  latter  declared 
that  the  cocktail  which  he  had  just  disposed  of  tasted 
strongly  of  castile-soap,  and  against  this  he  entered  a 
very  strong  protest.  The  Purveyor  explained  the  mat 
ter  by  saying  that  in  the  morning  he  had  attempted  to 
initiate  a  new  "  understudy,"  and  he  had  first  instructed 
him  to  go  down-stairs  in  the  cellar  and  shave  the  ice  for 
the  day's  mixed  drinks.  As  he  was  an  unusually  long 
time  at  the  task,  the  Purveyor  said  he  went  down  into 
the  hold  of  the  bar-room  to  see  what  was  up,  and  there 
he  found  the  promising  young  understudy,  armed  with  a 
brush,  busily  engaged  in  covering  the  cake  of  ice  with  a 
thick  lather  preparatory  to  shaving  it  with  an  old  razor 
which  he  had  in  his  hand.  Right  at  this  stage  of  the 
proceedings,  the  Purveyor  said,  he  had  taken  it  upon 
himself  to  give  the  new  man  his  discharge  papers,  and 
he  had  shaved  the  ice  himself,  in  the  regular,  orthodox 
way.  Hence  the  taste  of  soap  in  the  cocktail,  which 
could  not  be  entirely  eradicated,  though  he  had  noticed 
that  before  he  had  filed  his  complaint  the  Agent  had 
entirely  eradicated  the  cocktail  in  question.  He  sug- 

(185) 


186  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

gested  that  the  Agent  indite  a  testimonial  to  the  soap 
manufacturers,  expressing  his  appreciation  of  their  pro 
duction.  This,  he  said,  was  the  only  way  in  which  he 
could  get  even;  but  the  Agent  absolutely  refused  to  give 
his  lithograph  a  chance  to  appear  in  any  soap  advertise 
ment. 

*  * 
* 

"  The  other  day,"  put  in  the  Actor,  "  I  heard  Frank 
Moynihan  and  Jimmy  Devlin  talking  about  Mark  Gray, 
the  crank  who  shot  at  Edwin  Booth,  in  McVicker's 
Theater,  some  years  ago.  Both  of  them  were  in  the  cast 
of  the  piece  which  was  being  played  that  night.  Frank 
was  then  the  regular  call-boy  of  the  theater,  and  he 
appeared  in  small  parts.  In  this  play,  which  was  *  Richard 
II.,'  he  and  Devlin  were  two  of  three  desperadoes  who 
rushed  in  and  fought  the  star  with  swords.  While  wait 
ing  for  their  cue  to  go  on,  they  sat  behind  the  *  flat'  on 
the  steps  of  a  stage  throne.  At  the  time,  Booth  was  on 
the  stage  alone,  reciting  a  long  speech.  When  the  trio 
heard  the  first  shot,  they  supposed  that  the  '  property- 
man  '  had  accidentally  discharged  a  revolver.  At  the 
sound  of  the  second  shot,  Moynihan  and  Devlin  rushed 
around  to  the  second  entrance,  and  looked  out  on  the 
stage.  Booth  had  by  this  time  stepped  forward  to  the 
foot-lights,  and  was  saying:  'Ladies  and  gentlemen,  if 
you  will  wait  until  I  retire  and  assure  my  wife  that  I  am 
unhurt,  I  will  resume  my  part.'  He  left  the  stage  amid 
a  dead  silence,  went  directly  to  the  green-room,  spoke 
to  his  wife,  and  then  came  back  to  take  up  the  thread 
of  the  play  again.  After  he  had  finished  the  performance 
and  was  leaving  the  theater  with  Mrs.  Booth,  he  learned 
for  the  first  time  that  he  was  the  intended  victim  of  the 
shots.  '  My  God  ! '  he  exclaimed,  '  was  the  man  shooting 
at  me  ?'  He  supposed,  all  the  time,  that  some  drunken 


JIMMY    DEVLIN    AS    CALL-BOY.  187 

man  in  the  audience  had  been  fooling  with  a  pistol,  and 
had  accidentally  discharged  it.  When  he  learned  the 
truth,  he  went  back  on  the  stage,  had  the  lights  turned 
up  and  the  flats  shoved  on,  and  for  the  first  time  realized 
his  narrow  escape  from  assassination  when  he  found  the 
two  bullets  embedded  in  the  wood-work  of  the  scene. 
Had  they  not  struck  the  wood-work,  they  would  have 
killed  Devlin,  probably,  as  he  was  sitting  directly  back  of 

the  '  flats.'  " 

#  * 
* 

"  This  same  Jimmy  Devlin  used  to  be  the  call-boy  at 
McVicker's  once,"  remarked  the  Manager,  "and  one 
evening  he  was  standing  in  the  *  prompt  entrance  '  with  a 
prominent  actress  who  was  starring  at  the  house  then. 
One  of  the  members  of  the  cast  spoke  the  line,  *  Do  the 
stars  remember  us?'  whereupon  Jimmy  turned  around 
and  said,  dryly:  'That  line  was  written  for  the  call-boy.' 
The  actress  appreciated  his  remark  so  highly  that  she 
1  remembered  him '  with  a  five-dollar  bill  at  the  close  of 
the  engagement.  In  those  days  of  stock-companies  and 
traveling  stars,  by  the  way,  the  latter  always  signalized 
his  or  her  last  night  in  the  house  by  presenting  the  call- 
boy,  property-man,  and  stage-hands  with  little  money  pres 
ents  in  recognition  of  little  services  rendered  during  their 
stay.  Jefferson  was  always  one  of  the  most  liberal  stars  in 
this  direction.  Lotta  always  gave  freely,  and  so  did  Billy 

Florence,  and  they  never  lost  anything  by  their  generosity." 

*  * 
* 

"  Our  old  friend  William  Ajax  McConnell  has  had 
a  new  star  on  the  road  for  about  six  weeks,"  said  the 
Reporter.  "  It  is  an  abscess  which  a  colored  three-sheet 
poster  could  not  begin  to  do  justice  to,  and  it  is  located 
in  his  jaw-bone,  just  abaft  the  left  ear.  Will  says  he  has 
exploded  the  old  sentiment  to  the  effect  that  'abscess 


188  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

makes  the  heart  grow  fonder.'  After  he  had  thoroughly 
exploded  it,  a  large  and  able-bodied  physician  came  to 
the  bat,  and  proceeded  to  explode  the  abscess.  He  said 
that  he  had  used  a  lancet  in  the  operation,  but  Will  says 
that  when  he  was  a  boy  they  called  it  a  pickax.  The 
abscess,  when  it  was  in  perihelion,  drew  his  entire  atten 
tion  around  to  one  side  of  his  face,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  smoke  siphon  cigars,  for  which  he  could  borrow  a 
light  without  turning  his  head.  When  he  had  fully  made 
up  his  mind  to  die,  he  used  to  sit  at  the  window  and 
watch  funerals  go  by,  and  he  declares  that  at  least  forty 
funerals  per  day  passed  down  Wabash  avenue.  He  says 
he  thought  there  must  be  a  cholera  epidemic  out  in 
Englewood.  Of  course  he  could  eat  nothing,  so  he  read 
the  Dorcas  Society  Cook-Book  three  times  a  day,  and 
took  his  medicine  before  each  meal.  He  has  been 
stopping  up  with  his  brother  John,  manager  of  the 
Columbia,  and  during  his  illness,  he  has  run  the  whole 
gamut  of  John's  book-case,  eagerly  devouring  everything 
in  sight  in  the  literary  line,  from  a  copy  of  Young's 
Night  Thoughts  to  an  almanac  of  the  vintage  of  '69. 
At  the  time  when  his  star,  the  abscess,  was  drawing  the 
largest  houses — when  the  simple  fluttering  of  a  window- 
curtain  was  like  a  stab  with  an  auger  to  him — John's 
litlegirl  used  to  playfully  climb  up  on  the  head-board  of 
Will's  bed  and  balance  herself  just  above  his  pet. 
Finally,  the  sufferer  secreted  a  newspaper  filled  with  coal 
under  the  sheets,  and  when  his  little  visitor  appeared  at 
his  door  he  would  threaten  to  heave  large  gobs  of 
anthracite  at  her  if  she  tried  to  steal  second-base  on  him. 

Oh,  Will  has  had  large  amounts  of  pleasure  !  " 

*  * 
* 

"Major  Benton,  who  was  formerly  with  the  Columbia, 
is  still  in  town,"  put  in  the  Night  Clerk,  "  and  he  says 


MAJOR  BENTON'S  MINSTREL  TROUPE.  189 

he  thinks  he  will  have  to  have  the  Inter-State  Commerce 
Bill  repealed.  It  was  bad  enough,  he  declares,  to  be 
obliged  to  hustle  along  with  a  company  when  the  old 
latitude  in  the  way  of  rates  was  allowed,  but  it  was  almost 
certain  death  to  a  show  nowadays.  He  was  telling  me 
that  at  one  stage  of  his  professional  career  he  managed 
Arnold's  Minstrels,  in  which  there  were  thirty  artists, 
each  one  of  whom  wore  a  gold-braided  cap  with  the 
name  'Arnold '  across  the  front.  Late  one  night,  they 
left  Rochester  to  go  to  Syracuse,  and  before  they  boarded 
the  train,  Manager  Benton,  assembled  his  cohorts,  and 
informed  them  that,  owing  to  a  slight  discrepancy  in  the 
box-office  receipts,  he  had  been  able  to  purchase  but 
twenty-three  railroad  tickets,  whereupon  his  loyal  forces 
agreed  to  help  him  out.  It  was  a  very  long  train,  and 
when  the  conductor  started  to  go  through  it,  after  it  had 
pulled  out  of  Rochester,  he  found  Benton  in  the  front 
seat  of  the  forward  smoker.  He  handed  over  the  bundle 
of  tickets  with  the  remark  that  he  could  not  miss  his 
people,  as  they  all  wore  the  Arnold  caps.  In  about  half 
an  hour  the  bewildered  conductor  came  back  to  Benton 
and  said:  '  Look  here,  my  friend,  if  there  is  one  of  those 

caps  on  this  train  there  a  thousand  of  them?'     But 

Benton  protested  that  there  were  but  twenty-three  of 
them.  The  '  Pompeys'  had  followed,  passed  and  repassed 
the  conductor  on  his  way  through  the  train,  and  several 
traveling  men  had  '  caught  on  '  and  borrowed  the  caps  to 
wear.  When  the  conductor  started  through  a  second 
time,  the  manager  glanced  out  of  the  front  window  and 
saw  three  of  his  end  men  and  the  clarionet  player  sitting 
out  in  the  cold,  on  the  steps  of  the  baggage-car,  trying  to 
look  pleasant.  When  the  mystified  conductor  had  fin 
ished  his  third  trip  without  result,  the  engineer  whistled 
for  Syracuse,  and  the  troupe  escaped  unhurt." 


190  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"One  of  the  greatest  base-ball  cranks  in  town  is 
'Doc'  Trimen,  the  druggist,"  said  the  Reporter,  "and 
it  is  seldom  that  he  misses  a  game.  Of  course,  he  took 
in  the  recent  struggles  with  the  Detroits;  and  at  the  final 
contest  he  was  accompanied  by  a  friend  who  knew  noth 
ing  whatever  of  the  sport;  so  the  'Doc'  proceeded  to 
explain  the  points  to  him.  I  suppose  you  have  some 
times  attended  a  ball-game,  and  sat  near  a  man  who  was 
having  the  rules  explained  to  him.  It's  pleasant.  Well, 
on  this  occasion,  the  '  Doc '  was  an  excellent  tutor. 
'There,'  he  said, extending  his  finger  toward  'Old  Ans,' 
'  are  the  bases,  and  that  square  is  the  home-plate.  Those 
white  lines  are  the  foul  lines.  When  a  batted  ball  goes 
this  side  of  them,  it  is  foul;  and,  if  it  goes  on  that  side 
of  them,  it  is  fair/  Just  at  this  juncture,  'Malaria' 
Thompson,  who  was  at  the  bat,  struck  a  terrific  liner, 
which  struck  the  '  Doc's '  pupil  right  bang  in  the  eye, 
and  knocked  him  senseless.  Restoratives  were  im 
mediately  applied,  and  the  people  crowded  around  the 
unfortunate  man  to  give  him  air.  The  'Doc'  took  his 
poor  friend's  head  in  his  lap,  and  bathed  it  prodi 
gally.  Finally,  the  efforts  were  rewarded,  and  the  man 
opened  his  eyes  and  gazed  about  him  in  a  dazed, 
Panorama-place  manner.  At  last  he  caught  the  '  Doc's  ' 
reassuring  look,  and  feebly  inquired:  'What  was  it?' 
Always  thinking  of  the  game,  the  'Doc'  replied: 
'It  was  a  foul/  His  poor  friend  closed  his  eyes 
wearily,  and  murmured:  'Oh,  I  thought  it  was  a 
mule  !  '  " 

* 

"Your  speaking  of  base-ball,"  remarked  the  Agent, 
"  reminds  me  of  a  good  one  told  me  the  other  day  by 
Frank  Lane,  of  Agnes  Herndon's  company.  It  was  on 
Harry  Pitt,  the  English  actor — that  is,  he  was  born  in 


191 

this  country,  but  he  is  awfully  English,  you  know. 
Well,  he  was  asked  one  day,  in  New  York,  to  umpire  a 
game  of  base-ball.  He  didn't  know  much  about  it,  but 
in  the  goodness  of  his  heart  he  consented  to  officiate. 
The  first  man  at  the  bat  made  a  beautiful  base-hit,  and 
took  first  bag.  The  next  man  hit  a  vicious  liner  over 
third  base,  and  the  third-baseman  jumped  high  into  the 
air  and  pulled  it  down  with  one  hand.  Then,  to  make  a 
double  play,  he  slammed  it  over  to  first  base.  The  first- 
baseman  caught  the  ball  just  as  the  runner  slid  back  to 
the  bag.  It  was  a  very  close  decision,  and  the  guardian 
of  first  base  shot  out  one  hand  in  an  appealing  gesture 
toward  the  umpire,  and  shouted:  'How's  that?'  Pitt 
recovered  himself  sufficiently  to  ejaculate,  admiringly: 
'  Bloody  wonderful,  my  boy  !  ' 

* 

"  When  Miss  Herndon  was  playing  over  at  the  Stand 
ard,"  put  in  the  Actor.  "  Lane  stopped  at  the  Farwell 
House,  and  Harold  Fosberg,  of  the  'Beacon  Lights' 
company,  then  playing  at  the  Academy,  also  stopped 
there.  Harold,  you  know,  is  a  great  character,  and  is 
always  acting,  whether  on  the  stage  or  off.  Poor  Charlie 
Thorne  was  his  idol,  and  he  was  always  imitating  him. 
Well,  one  matinee  day,  Lane  came  out  from  dinner 
with  him,  and  Harold  hailed  a  Blue  Island  avenue  car. 
'You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  ride  those  two 
blocks,  do  you  ? '  queried  Frank.  The  car  had  stopped 
at  the  crossing,  and  Harold  swung  himself  onto  the 
back  platform.  As  he  did  so,  he  turned,  and,  with  a 
theatrical  wave  of  his  hand,  tapped  his  breast  and 
said,  melo-dramatically:  'Poverty  should  walk!  My 
heart  so  light,  and  Paris  so  gay !  '  The  conductor 
thought  he  was  a  crank,  and  the  passengers  seconded 
the  motion." 


192  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  Dynamite !  "  yelled  the  Agent,  as  an  explosion 
occurred;  but  the  excitement  soon  subsided.  It  ap 
peared  that  the  Reporter  was  about  to  start  for  home, 
and  desired  to  ameliorate  his  pungent  breath  somewhat; 
so  he  burrowed  in  his  vest-pocket  for  a  cassia-bud.  By 
mistake,  he  secured  the  industrious  end  of  a  parlor- 
match,  and  as  his  teeth  closed  upon  it,  the  explosion 
referred  to  occurred.  His  mouth  was  so  blistered  by  it 
that  he  was  unable  to  tell  the  number  of  his  residence, 
and  the  Club  put  him  on  a  homeward-bound  car,  with  a 
lump  of  ice  on  his  tongue,  and  a  breath  like  a  gas-stove. 


XXI. 

THE  BACCHUS  AND  GANYMEDE  TROUPE — A  New  Scheme  of  the 
Purveyor  and  the  Agent,  His  Partner — Mixed  Drinks  for  the 
Grangers — In  a  Department  Store — A  Noisy  Clock — Locked  Up 
in  a  Folding-Bed — Nat  Goodwin  at  Poker — Fun  in  a  Music 
Store— Charlie  Reed  and  Billy  Birch— The  Patent  Egg-Tester— 
Phrenological  Roulette — Visited  the  Exposition. 

When  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  met  in  the 
Usual  Resort  last  evening,  the  Agent  and  the  Purveyor 
had  a  new  scheme  on  the  broiler.  The  former  was  very 
anxious  to  put  a  company  on  the  road  during  the  sum 
mer  months,  and  he  had  hit  upon  a  new  and  brilliant 
idea.  The  troupe  was  to  consist  of  the  Purveyor,  his 
understudy,  and  Bacchus  and  Ganymede,  of  the  Order 
of  Full  Moons.  The  Agent  was  to  go  ahead  of  the 
show  himself,  and  when  he  reached  a  desirable  town,  he 
would  go  to  the  leading  rum  palace  in  the  place  and 
make  arrangements  with  its  proprietor  to  play  his  com 
bination  for  a  week.  Then  he  would  proceed  to  flood 
the  town  with  handbills,  and  when  his  aggregation 
arrived,  it  would  follow  this  up  by  flooding  the  towns 
people  with  mixed  drinks.  Each  one  of  the  quartet 
selected  were  past  masters  in  the  art  of  liquor-juggling, 
and  their  adroitness  in  this  line  would  attract  large 
crowds,  while  the  Agent,  as  representative  of  the  combi 
nation,  would  pocket  fifty  per  cent,  of  the  gross  receipts. 
The  troupe  would  carry  no  scenery,  the  audiences  fur 
nishing  their  own  scenery  to  suit  the  taste  after  they 
had  encompassed  the  repertoire  of  beverages.  Each 
member  of  the  combine  would  execute  a  solo  or  two  at 

13  (193; 


194  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

each  performance,  Bacchus  performing  his  specialty  on 
the  frozen  punch  without  using  a  net  or  leaving  the 
stain.  By  carefully  avoiding  the  prohibition  circuit,  and 
giving  a  street  parade  every  day,  the  Agent  was  of  the 
opinion  that  this  novel  entertainment  would  be  a  go; 
and  as  an  afterpiece,  he  proposed  to  have  the  full  strength 
of  the  company  in  a  pyrotechnic  display  of  chemistry 
that  would  rival  Professor  Paine's  "  Destruction  of  Pom 
peii."  The  Actor  sneered  at  the  project  when  he 
learned  that  the  Agent  had  decided  not  to  pass  the  pro 
fession. 

*  * 
* 

u  Early  the  other  morning,  just  as  I  got  off  watch," 
remarked  the  Night  Clerk,  "  I  ran  across  a  friend  of 
mine  who  was  on  his  way  to  one  of  those  department 
stores  to  make  some  purchases.  He  bought  some  coffee, 
some  matches,  some  tin-ware,  had  his  photograph  taken, 
and  experienced  an  easy  shave,  all  on  one  floor.  The 
shave  was'given  with  the  coffee.  With  tea,  they  throw  in 
a  dry  shampoo.  Well,  as  we  were  leaving  the  place,  he 
insisted  upon  buying  me  something,  and  I  finally  selected 
a  small  dollar  clock.  The  salesgirl  wrapped  it  up,  and 
I  put  it  in  my  overcoat-pocket.  It  was  '  warranted  to  go 
in  any  position,'  and  I  think  Captain  Arison  should  lose 
no  time  in  securing  two  of  them — one  for  pitcher  and 
the  other  for  center-field.  But  how  that  little  clock  did 
tick  !  People  heard  it  on  the  street,  and  gazed  critically 
at  my  clothes.  Guess  they  thought  it  was  a  Waterbury. 
I  had  to  go  and  see  a  man  on  business,  and  of  course 
the  clock  had  to  accompany  me.  The  man  looked  me 
over,  and  then  inquired  if  the  twelve  apostles  came  out 
only  one  an  hour,  or  oftener.  Up  to  that  time,  I  had  not 
been  aware  that  there  was  an  alarm  connected  with  the 
infernal  little  machine;  but  there  was  no  mistake  about 


LOCKED    UP    IN    A    FOLDING-BED.  195 

it.  The  noise  it  made  when  it  shot  off  was  deafening. 
Every  man  in  the  building  rushed  to  his  telephone  and 
yelled,  '  Hello,  Central ! '  I  fired  the  awful  thing  down 
into  the  street,  and  an  expressman  nearly  fell  from  his 
wagon  in  a  wild  attempt  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  what 
he  thought  was  the  fire-insurance  patrol.  A  policeman 
turned  in  an  alarm,  and  all  was  excitement.  Finally,  the 
officer  found  the  clock,  broke  it  open  with  a  rock,  and 
took  from  it  a  spring  long  enough  to  officiate  as  a  loop 
cable  on  the  State  street  line.  If  you  want  to  spend  a 
dollar  and  get  your  money's  worth,  just  buy  one  of  those 
dollar  clocks." 


*  * 
* 


"  Little  Willie  McConnell  is  with  us  again,"  said  the 
Agent.  "  He  returned  last  week,  and  his  friend  Tony 
Denier  killed  a  papier-mache  fatted  calf  in  honor  of  the 
occasion.  I  met  Willie  yesterday,  and  was  amazed  to 
find  his  face  all  covered  with  scratches.  It  looked,  with 
its  bars  and  dots,  like  a  libretto  of  S.  G.  Pratt's  'Lucille,' 
and  I  asked  him  what  it  meant.  He  informed  me  that, 
in  an  evil  moment,  his  brother  John,  manager  of  the 
Columbia,  had  invited  him  to  his  house  the  night  before 
to  stay  all  night.  Will  accepted  the  invitation,  and, 
when  he  was  quite  ready  to  retire,  he  was  shown  to  the 
folding-bed  in  the  front  parlor.  Before  leaving  him, 
John  brought  an  alarm-clock,  and  informed  Will  that  he 
had  arranged  it  so  it  would  explode  at  8.30  A.  M.  Then 
Will  went  to  bed.  The  clock  began  work  precisely  at 
midnight,  and  fought  a  round  every  hour  until  morning, 
when  the  works  finally  knocked  it  out.  Along  about 
daylight,  John's  pet  cat  strolled  into  the  parlor,  and 
jumped  upon  the  folding-bed.  After  Will  had  become 
convinced  that  it  was  a  real  cat,  he  allowed  it  to  lie  down 
beside  him  and  slumber.  John  came  in  about  nine  o'clock. 


196  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

He  is  a  little  near-sighted,  and,  as  Will  and  the  cat  were 
concealed  beneath  the  cover,  he  supposed  the  bed  was 
empty,  so  he  at  once  threw  it  into  an  upright  position. 
When  Will  came  to,  he  found  himself  standing  upon  his 
head  on  a  pillow,  and  the  pet  cat  making  wild  struggles 
to  release  himself  through  his  face.  Will's  frantic  cries 
for  help  attracted  the  neighbors,  also  the  patrol  wagon, 
and  a  blacksmith  separated  him  and  the  scared  cat  from 
the  bed.  That  accounts  for  the  furrows  on  his  open 

countenance." 

*  * 
* 

"  Nat  Goodwin  is  catching  on  in  New  York  City  in  his 
new  burlesque, '  Little  Jack  Sheppard,'  "  put  in  the  Actor. 
"  His  manager  is  '  Hurricane  George  '  Floyd,  who  writes 
one  of  his  peculiar,  'razzle-dazzle  '  letters  to  me  to  tell 
of  the  success  of  the  red-headed  comique.  Nat's  latest 
yarn  is  a  good  one.  You  know  his  favorite  tales  are 
those  relating  to  the  pleasures  and  vicissitudes  of  the 
fascinating  game  of  draw-poker,  and  this  is  one  of  them. 
It  is  about  a  stranger  who  was  roped  into  a  poker  game 
by  a  card-sharp.  After  playing  along  awhile  without 
incident,  the  sharp  proceeded  to  insert  his  fine  work,  and 
he  dealt  the  stranger  a  big  hand,  giving  himself  a  larger 
one.  As  the  stranger  skinned  his  cards,  a  look  of  deep 
suspicion  stole  over  his  countenance,  and  he  carefully 
proceeded  to  inspect  the  backs  of  his  cards.  *  These 
cards  are  marked,'  he  declared,  finally.  *  Nonsense,' 
replied  the  sharp.  *  Yes,  they  are  pricked  with  a  pin,' 
protested  the  stranger.  'You're  foolish, 'said  the  sharp; 
'those  are  only  fly-specks.'  The  stranger  reached  for 
the  rest  of  the  pack,  and  looked  them  over  closely,  while 
the  sharp  twitched  uneasily  in  his  chair.  Finally,  the 
stranger  looked  across  the  table,  and  exclaimed:  'Fly- 
specks!  Pretty  high-toned  flies  to  pay  attention  to  noth- 


FUN    IN    A    MUSIC    STORE.  197 

ing  but  aces  and  kings.'     And  the  card-sharp  threw  up 

both  hands." 

*  * 
* 

"  The  other  day,"  said  the  Reporter,  "  I  went  into  a 
wholesale  music  store  over  here,  and  while  I  sat  waiting 
for  the  man  I  had  called  to  see,  I  heard  a  stock-clerk 
and  the  shipping-clerk  fill  a  country  order.  It  sounded 
very  funny  to  me.  '  Thirteen  White  Wings,' yelled  the 
stock-clerk,  and  *  Check,'  responded  the  shipping-clerk. 
Then  they  started  in  in  earnest,  like  this:  'Four  Robins 
Nest — Check;  six  Stick  to  Mother — Check;  nine  Starry 
Eyes — Check;  two  Peek-a-Boo — Check;'  and  so  on,  ad 
lib.  Do  you  notice  my  musical  terms,  by  the  way  ?  The 
only  musical  terms  they  use  in  that  particular  establish 
ment,  however,  are  'Cash,'  I  understand." 

*  * 
* 

"  Speaking  of  popular  songs,"  said  the  Manager, 
"  reminds  me  of  a  good  one  on  Charlie  Reed  and  Billy 
Birch,  of  the  Chicago  Minstrels,  which  occurred  the 
other  day.  It  was  last  Saturday,  and  after  the  matinee 
they  went  out  for  a  stroll  together.  The  day  was  so  fine 
that  time  slipped  by  unheeded,  and  they  realized  only 
too  soon  that  they  barely  had  time  to  get  back  to  the 
theater  to  black  up  for  the  evening  performance.  Char 
lie  suggested  that  they  drop  into  a  restaurant  and  snatch 
a  bite,  but  Billy  said  he  was  afraid  that  the  proprietor 
might  be  looking.  However,  they  finally  entered  a 
*  mealery '  where  they  give  a  song  and  dance,  an  ora 
torio,  or  a  pathetic  ballad  with  every  fifteen-cent  meal, 
instead  of  a  piece  of  pie.  Charlie  called  for  a  quick 
oyster  stew,  and  when  the  order  was  placed  before  him, 
a  young  lady  in  evening  dress  mounted  a  platform  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  and  a  young  man  began  to  chase  his 
fingers  along  the  foreground  of  the  piano-forte.  Just  as 


198  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

Charlie  struck  his  first  oyster,  the  young  lady  began  to 
warble  '  Peek-a-Boo '  to  the  young  man's  accompani 
ment.  This  was  pretty  good,  so  Birch  ceased  chewing 
Reed's  cabbage  and  gave  his  own  order.  '  One  batter- 
cakes  and  coffee;  When  the  Robins  Nest  Again! '  yelled 
the  waiter,  in  stentorian  tones,  and  the  young  lady 
started  in  on  this  ballad  as  Birch's  order  arrived.  Char 
lie  reached  for  his  trusty  chestnut-bell,  but  found  that  he 
had  left  it  on  the  other  vest.  This,  Birch  said,  when  he 
offered  the  excuse,  was  a  canard  to  make  people  believe 
that  he  owned  two  vests.  A  stranger  came  into  the 
place,  took  a  seat  at  the  next  table,  and  gave  his  order. 
'Half  on  the  shell,  and  White  Wings!'  and  the  song 
stress  drifted  dreamily  into  this  ballad  as  the  stranger 
tried  to  squeeze  a  dry  lemon  onto  an  alleged  blue-point. 
And  this  was  the  way  it  went:  'Lottie  Lee'  accompa 
nied  a  small  steak,  '  The  Bould  Mclntyres '  went  with 
potato  salad,  and  '  Only  a  Pansy  Blossom '  with  poached 
eggs.  Charlie  and  Billy  thought  that  the  idea  of  giving 
a  free  concert  with  every  stew  was  indeed  a  great  one, 
and  Charlie  has  already  written  to  'Frisco  regarding  the 

scheme." 

*  * 
* 

"  Your  reference  to  the  McConnell  family  awhile  ago," 
said  the  Professor,  "  reminds  me  that  Will,  of  that  ilk, 
was  quite  a  sporting  man  in  the  old  days,  and  he  was 
never  happier  than  when  he  was  acting  as  *  capper'  for 
someone's  game.  He  was  telling  me  the  other  day  about 
the  time  he  traveled  around  the  country  with  a  chap  who 
had  a  patent  egg-tester  for  sale.  The  man  didn't  know 
much  about  the  '  faking '  business,  and  Will  undertook 
to  post  him  up.  In  the  first  place,  Will  had  an  egg  boiled 
very  hard,  and  gave  it  to  the  egg-tester  man  with  explicit 
instructions  as  to  its  use.  At  the  next  town,  a  crowd 


PHRENOLOGICAL  ROULETTE.  199 

was  collected  on  the  street-corner,  and  the  egg-tester 
man  addressed  the  people  thuswise:  'Ladies  and  Gen 
tlemen — You  no  doubt  believe  in  the  old  idea  that  a  per 
son  can  tell  whether  an  egg  is  fresh  or  not  simply  by 
looking  through  it  endwise.  For  instance,  you  can  not 
see  through  this  egg/  holding  up  the  hard-boiled  one  for 
inspection;  'yet  if  I  place  it  in  my  egg-tester  here,  you 
can  see  through  it  clearly.'  Here  the  egg-tester  man 
substituted  a  raw  fresh  egg  for  the  hard-boiled  one,  and 
carried  out  his  promise.  Then  Will,  in  his  capacity  of 
*  capper,'  came  up  and  purchased  one  of  the  testers,  and, 
as  he  says,  the  '  jays  '  followed  suit,  and  a  harvest  of  dol 
lars  was  reaped.  *  We  should  have  been  making  money 
on  the  scheme  yet,'  said  Will,  'if  the  chump  hadn't  got 
nervous  one  day  and  dropped  the  boiled  egg.  They 
drove  him  out  of  town.'  " 


* 
* 


"  I've  got  a  good  one  to  tell  you  on  the  Agent,"  put 
in  the  Actor.  "  He  and  I  took  in  the  Exposition  together 
the  other  day,  and  while  up  in  the  gallery  we  ran  across 
the  booth  of  a  phrenologist.  The  booth  was  temporarily 
in  charge  of  a  mild-eyed  young  man  with  a  mildewed 
complexion,  who  called  the  attention  of  passers-by  to 
an  extensive  phrenological  chart  on  the  counter  before 
him.  The  chart  represented  a  man's  head,  of  abnormal 
size,  divided  into  numerous  sections,  which  were  colored 
in  various  hues,  and  numbered  consecutively.  When  we 
stopped  in  front  of  the  mildewed  young  man's  game,  the 
Agent  surveyed  the  chart  a  moment,  then  reached  down 
in  his  vest-pocket,  drew  forth  a  quarter,  carefully  depos 
ited  it  upon  the  red  section  marked  '  7,'  and  astonished 
the  mild-eyed  attendant  by  saying:  *  My  friend,  just  roll 
the  wheel  once  for  that,  please.'  He  thought  it  was  a 
roulette  layout.  Then  we  struck  a  folding-bed  exhibit, 


200  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

and  the  Agent  began  to  toy  with  a  small  model  to  see 
how  it  worked.  A  granger  came  up  while  he  was  at  it, 
regarded  the  Agent  and  the  model  curiously  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  remarked:  'That  thing  don't  look  like 
it's  long  enough  for  a  man.'  The  Agent  gave  him  a  hard 
look,  and  answered:  *  No,  this  one  is  only  a  bluff — you'll 
find  a  man's  size  over  there.  They  cost  s'dollars  apiece;' 

at  which  the  granger  pondered,  and  went  his  way." 

*  * 
* 

Here  the  Agent  alighted  from  the  scales,  with  the 
remark  that  he  had  gained  just  five  pounds  in  weight  in 
thirty-six  hours.  As  his  pockets  bulged  suspiciously,  the 
Club  searched  him,  and  unearthed  four  pounds  and  a  half 
of  the  results  of  his  visit  to  the  Exposition.  They 
brought  forth  six  packages  of  baking-powder,  seven 
yeast-cakes,  eight  bottles  of  different  patent-medicine 
samples,  three  bricks  of  gummy  red  pop-corn,  nine 
cakes  of  soap  (laundry  and  toilet),  two  pin-cushions  of 
vegetable  ivory,  eight  hundred  and  ninety-two  different 
business  cards,  and  ninety-three  circulars.  After  this, 
the  Agent  was  lifted  upon  the  scales  again,  and  it  was 
found  that  he  had  regained  his  normal  weight.  The 
Club  adjourned,  after  administering  a  reprimand. 


XXII. 

SHOCKED  BY  A  NEW  INVENTION — The  Delicate  Nerves  of  the  Agent 
Are  Given  a  Terrible  Whirl — In  Front  of  a  Letter-Slide — Harry 
Phillips  and  the  Ball  Crank— Kenward  Philp's  Box— Gus  Will 
iams  Recites— "  A  Common  Chord  " — "The  Queen  of  Hearts" 
— Popular  Songs — Booth's  Stature — Charlie  Gardner  in  the  Bar 
ber-Shop —  "  May-Beer." 

"  I'm  just  a  bit  nervous  to-night,"  said  the  Agent,  as 
the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  gathered  in  the 
Usual  Resort  last  evening,  to  attend  the  regular  weekly 
meeting.  "  Just  give  me  a  galley  proof  of  a  brandy 
and  soda,  will  you,  please  ?  "  to  the  Purveyor;  "  I  seem  to 
have  entirely  lost  the  use  of  my  nerves.  All  of  this  goes 
to  remind  me  that  sporting  life  is  a  great  life,  if  you  live 
close  up  to  it,  as  we  have  already  decided.  I  was  up 
this  afternoon  to  call  on  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  a  con 
tractor,  and  I  experienced  a  terrible  shock.  His  office, 
you  know,  is  on  the  fourth  floor  of  one  of  these  behe 
moth  down-town  buildings,  and  between  the  two  elevators 
is  one  of  the  new  glass  chutes  for  letters  and  papers, 
running  from  the  top-  floor  to  the  mail-box  in  the  hall 
way  below.  I  agitated  the  annunciator,  and  was  waiting 
to  go  down  in  the  elevator,  when  a  man  on  the  top  floor 
mailed  a  letter  and  a  paper.  As  they  shot  by  me  on 
their  downward  career,  I  dodged  away  from  the  streak 
of  white,  and  involuntarily  started  to  apologize  before  I 
realized  what  was  up,  or  rather,  what  was  down.  1  tell 
you  it  was  a  terrible  ordeal  for  a  man  as  nervous  as  I 
was  !  Just  give  me  another  sample  copy  of  that  bracer. 

Thanks." 

(aoi) 


202  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  I  suppose  we  will  have  our  old  friend  '  Hanky  Panky ' 
Johnson  with  us  again  next  week,"  put  in  the  Manager. 
"He  manages  Mestayer's  'We,  Us  &  Co.,'  which  plays 
at  the  Chicago  Opera  House;  and  Harry  Phillips,  his 
great  chum,  will  be  here  with  him,  to  prepare  for  the 
opening  of  'A  Crazy  Patch,'  at  the  same  theater.  Harry 
was  telling  me,  not  long  ago,  about  one  of  those 
'know-all'  fellows  who  invariably  listen  to  conversations 
between  strangers,  and  volunteer  information  when 
either  of  the  strangers  hesitate  over  a  point.  It  was  in 
a  Pullman  sleeper  that  Harry  struck  him.  Harry  was 
chatting  with  Jesse  Williams,  the  orchestra  conductor, 
about  the  new  opera  by  Charlie  Hoyt  and  Fred  Solomon, 
which  is  called  '  The  Maid  and  the  Moonshiner.'  After 
asking  about  the  merits  of  Hoyt's  libretto,  and  obtain 
ing  Williams'  verdict,  Harry  inquired:  'How  was  the 
score?'  As  Williams  is  something  of  a  composer  him 
self,  he  naturally  felt  some  delicacy  in  answering,  and, 
as  he  hesitated,  the  'know-all,'  who  was  sitting  in  the 
seat  just  behind  them,  leaned  forward  and  volunteered: 
'Thirteen  to  three  in  favor  of  Chicago.'  Curtain  !  " 

* 

"  Hearing  some  recent  stories  about  poor  Kenward 
Philp,  the  newspaper  man,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the 
author  of  the  famous,  or  infamous,  Morey  letter  of  the 
Garfield  campaign,  and  who  died  recently,  reminded  me 
of  a  couple  of  fables  that  our  friend  Will  McConnell 
told  me  about  him,"  said  the  Agent.  "When  Will  was 
managing  the  Brooklyn  Theater,  Philp  was  doing  the 
dramatic  work  for  the  New  York  Morning  Journal,  and 
whenever  Will  gave  him  passes,  he  was  very  careful  to 
write  across  the  back  of  them:  '  Not  to  be  exchanged 
for  drinks.'  One  week,  there  happened  to  be  a  very 
queer  attraction  playing  at  the  theater,  and  Will  begged 


203 

Philp  to  give  him  a  good  notice.  The  next  morning,  the 
Journal  came  out  with  a  very  fulsome  article,  praising 
the  show  to  the  skies,  and  winding  up  with,  'And  this 
notice  ought  to  be  worth  a  box.'  In  the  afternoon, 
Philp  came  around  to  the  theater  to  ask  if  he  was  to  get 
the  box  referred  to.  *  Certainly,'  replied  McConnell. 
Then  Philp  said  he  desired  to  have  a  few  friends  occupy 
it  with  him,  and  Will  immediately  instructed  the  door 
keeper  to  pass  in  any  friends  whom  Mr.  Philp  might 
bring  or  send  to  the  door.  When  Will  returned  to  the 
theater  from  a  run  over  to  New  York,  that  evening,  he 
found  the  foyer  and  aisles  leading  to  Philp's  box  filled 
with  a  mass  of  humanity,  and  the  door-keeper  said  that 
Philp  had  already  passed  in  ninety-three  friends  on  the 
strength  of  his  introduction.  But  it  was  the  biggest 

house  of  the  week,  and  Will  forgave  him." 

*  * 
* 

"  We  had  a  little  session  the  other  evening  with  Gus 
Williams,  the  well-known  German  dialect  comedian," 
remarked  the  Reporter,  "  and  he  gave  us  a  very  pretty 
little  recitation.  He  said  he  could  not  tell  the  author  of 
it,  but  he  had  picked  it  up  because  it  was  so  effective. 
You  know  Gus  is  at  home  in  the  pathetic  as  well  as  the 
humorous,  and  he  rendered  it  splendidly.  He  gave  me 
a  copy  of  it  to-day,  in  his  own  type-writing,  and  I  will 
try  to  read  it.  Here  goes: 

"A  COMMON   CHORD. 
"  The  Rappahannock's  stately  tide,  aglow  with  sunset  light, 

Came  sweeping  down  between  the  hills  that  hemmed  its  gather 
ing  might; 

From  one  side  rose  the  Stafford  slopes,  and  on  the  other  shore 
The  Spottsylvania  meadows  lay,  with  oak  groves  scattered  o'er. 
Hushed  were  the  sounds  of  busy  day;  the  brooding  air  was 

hushed, 
Save  by  the  rapid-flowing  stream  that  chanted  as  it  rushed. 


204  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

O'er  mead  and  gently  sloping  hills,  on  either  side  the  stream, 
The  white  tents  of  the  soldiers  caught  the  sun's  departing  gleam; 
On  Spottsylvania's  slopes,  the  Blue — on  Stafford's  hills,  the  Gray; 
Between  them,  like  an  unsheathed  sword,  the  glittering  river  lay. 
Hark!  Suddenly  a  Union  band,  far  down  the  stream,  sends  forth 
The  strains  of  '  Hail  Columbia,'  the  paean  of  the  North. 
The  tents  are  parted ;  silent  throngs  of  soldiers,  worn  and  grim, 
Stand  forth  upon  the  dusky  slopes  to  hear  the  martial  hymn. 
So  clear  and  quiet  was  the  night,  that  to  the  farthest  bound 
Of  either  camp  was  borne  the  swell  of  sweet,  triumphant  sound; 
And  when  the  last  note  died  away,  from  distant  post  to  post, 
A  shout  like  thunder  of  the  tide  rolled  through  the  Fed'ral  host. 
Then  straightway  from  the  other  shore  there  rose  an  answering 

strain — 
'  The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag  '  came  floating  down  the  slope  and  o'er 

the  plain; 

And  then  the  boys  in  gray  sent  back  our  cheer  across  the  tide — 
A  mighty  shout,  that  rent  the  air  and  echoed  far  and  wide. 
'Star-Spangled  Banner!'  we  replied;  they  answered,   'Boys  in 

Gray!' 
While  cheer  on  cheer  rolled  through  the  dusk,  and  faintly  died 

away. 

Deeply  the  gloom  had  gathered,  and  all  the  stars  had  come, 
When  the  Union  band  began  to  play  the  notes  of  '  Home,  Sweet 

Home.' 

Slowly  and  softly  breathed  the  chords,  and  utter  silence  fell 
Over  the  valley  and  the  hills,  on  Blue  and  Gray  as  well — 
Now  rolling  and  now  sinking  low,  now  tremulous,  now  strong, 
The  leader's  cornet  played  the  air  of  the  beautiful  old  song; 
And   rich   and   mellow   horn   and   bass  joined   in   the    flowing 

chords, 
So  voice-like  that  they  scarcely   lacked   the   charm   of  spoken 

words. 

Then  what  a  cheer  from  armies  both,  with  faces  to  the  stars  ! 
And  tears  were  shed,  and  prayers  were  said,  upon  the  field  of 

Mars. 
The  Southern  band  caught  up  the  strain,  and  we  who  could  sing, 

sang; 

Oh,  what  a  glorious  hymn  of  home  across  the  river  rang! 
We  thought  of  loved  ones  far  away,  of  scenes  we'd  left  behind — 


"THE  QUEEN  OF  HEARTS."  205 

The  low-roofed  farm-house  neath  the  elm  that  murmured  in  the 

wind; 

The  children  standing  at  the  gate,  the  dear  wife  at  the  door; 
The  dusty  sunlight  as  it  played  upon  the  old  barn-floor. 
Oh!  Loud  and  long  the  cheer  we  raised,  and  caught  it  up  until 
The  dear,  familiar  strain  had  died  away,  from  hill  to  hill; 
Then  to  our  cots  of  straw  we  stole,  and  dreamed,  the  live-long 

night, 
Of  'Home,  Sweet  Home,'  so  far  away — peace- walled,  and  still, 

and  white." 

*   * 
* 

"You're  just  right  about  Gus  Williams  being  clever  in 
pathetic  recitations,"  interjected  the  Actor.  "  I  once 
heard  him  recite  a  little  poem  called  « The  Queen  of 
Hearts,'  and  I  made  him  teach  it  to  me  afterward.  I 
don't  think  I've  forgotten  it,  and  I'll  try  and  give  it  to 
you.  It  runs  something  like  this — and  it  is  supposed  to 
be  an  old  gambler's  soliloquy  on  a  dirty  card: 

"  Mud-stained  and  torn,  upon  the  side-walk  lying, 

Stripped  of  the  beauty  of  your  regal  parts, 
Yet  still  the  old  whirl  of  fortune's  wheel  defying, 
I  find  this  morn — the  tattered  queen  of  hearts. 

"Where  now  (I  wonder)  are  your  old  companions, 

The  fifty-one  inseparable  friends — 
In  beer-saloons,  or  Rocky  Mountain  canons, 
At  sea,  or  at  the  earth's  remotest  ends  ? 

"  Like  Israel's  tribe,  they're  tossed  about  and  scattered; 

Even  the  very  kings  might  prove  unclean. 
But  you,  old  queen  of  hearts,  tho'  mud-bespattered — 
Every  moment  prove  yourself  a  queen. 

"Who  knows  but  sometimes  jeweled  fingers  shuffled 

The  pack  in  which  you  held  a  solid  place; 
Who,  what  placid  tempers  you  have  ruffled, 
At  whist,  by  trumping  an  obtrusive  ace. 

"And  when  the  higher  honors  all  were  hoarded, 
And  you  were  queen  indeed  of  all  the  pack, 


200  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

How  proudly  did  you  take  the  last  trick  boarded! 
How  like  a  woman  did  you  win  the  Jack! 

"  And  then,  how  fondly  was  your  face  regarded 
By  him  who  first  beheld  the  crimson  blush 
Of  you,  when  he  had  doubtingly  discarded 
A  spade,  and  drawn  to  hearts  to  '  fill  a  flush.' 

"  And  then  they  say  that  cards  are  evil's  marrow, 

And  card-players  sometimes  commit  a  sin; 
But  you,  old  girl — yes,  you,  when  turned  to  faro, 
You  sometimes  caused  'a  stack  of  blues'  to  win. 

"  I  might  recall  the  evenings  blithe  and  merry 

We  passed  beneath  the  sparkling  chandelier; 

You  played  high  up,  with  rouge  et  noir  and  sherry, 

But  you  dropped  at  last  to  pinochle  and  beer. 

"  And  then,  ah  !  well,  no  sermon  need  I  utter — 
Enough  to  know  you  lost  your  winning  arts, 
And  poor  and  helpless  sank  into  the  gutter, 
Like  many  another  luckless  queen  of  hearts." 

*    * 
* 

"Speaking  of  poetry,"  put  in  the  Reporter,  after  the 
applause  had  subsided,  "  reminds  me  that  I  am  quite  a 
poet  and  song-writer  myself.  I  was  over  this  afternoon 
to  write  a  local  verse  for  Edwin  Booth's  topical  song  in 
*  Hamlet.'  Talking  about  these  modern  songs,  by  the 
way,  calls  to  my  mind  the  idiotic  words  I  have  heard 
lately  in  modern  music.  You  know,  of  course,  that  the 
song-and-dance  ditties  are  almost  all  alike.  There's 
usually  a  '  maiden  in  the  dell/  who  is  loafing  around  '  in 
the  gloaming,'  or  at  least  in  that  particular  portion  of  the 
day.  Then, in  the  chorus,  the  chances  are  that  'she's  all 
the  world  '  to  somebody,  and  '  sweeter  than  the  honey 
from  the  bee;'  and  the  writer  finally  winds  matters  up  by 
locating  her  'where  the  golden  lilies  cluster' — but  I  do 
not  believe  that  the  average  song-and-dance  man  could 
tell  a  golden  lily  from  a  spade  flush.  Then  they  persist 


BOOTH'S  STATURE.  207 

in  singing  about  girls  with  '  starry  eyes  '  and  *  wavy  hair,' 
and  about  her  '  looking  over  the  sea,'  when  the  chances 
are  that  she  lives  over  on  the  West  Side,  and  has  never 
seen  a  body  of  salt  water  larger  than  a  bath-tub.  I  tell 
you,  boys,  the  amount  of  deceit  and  decrepit  grammar 
crowded  into  one  of  those  '  sailing '  ballads  is  something 
shameful." 


#  * 
* 


"  I  went  over  to  see  Booth  in  '  Richelieu  '  last  Monday 
night,"  said  the  Actor,  "  and  I  was  obliged  to  stand  on  a 
cuspidor  away  back  in  the  foyer,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
him  occasionally  as  some  woman  moved  her  head.  I 
guess  it  was  great — at  least,  I  heard  everyone  say  so  as 
they  went  out  between  the  acts  to  change  their  breaths. 
Two  fellows  came  out  after  the  fourth  act,  and  one  of 
them  remarked  that  it  was  a  pity  that  Booth  was  not 
taller.  'Taller!'  echoed  his  companion,  gazing  at  him 
with  contempt;  'why,  he  was  forty  feet  high  to  me  in  that 
curse  scene — what  more  do  you  want  ? '  And  the  first 
speaker  wilted  at  once,  and  paid  the  penalty  of  his  folly 
with  a  plugged  quarter." 

"  I  met  our  old  friend  Charlie  Gardner,  the  German 
comedian,  the  other  day,"  remarked  the  Agent.  "  He  is 
another  of  the  fortunate  people  who  are  to  summer  in 
Chicago.  Told  me  of  a  funny  experience  he  had  in  an 
Eastern  town  last  season.  The  barber-shop  at  the  hotel 
where  he  was  stopping  was  approached  through  the  bar 
of  the  hostelry.  One  morning,  Charlie  went  in  for  a 
shave.  When  he  mounted  the  chair,  there  were  a  num 
ber  of  sitters  waiting  their  turn  and  reading  barber-shop 
literature.  One  of  these,  an  old  Reuben  from  the 
backwoods,  varied  the  monotony  of  the  long  wait  by 
repeated  trips  to  the  bar;  and  when  he  finally  sat  down 


208  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

in  the  chair  next  to  Charlie's,  and  asked  for  a  shave,  he 
was  pretty  middling  full.  When  the  barber  had  scraped 
his  face,  he  jacked  him  up  straight  in  the  chair,  ran  his 
hand  through  the  dusty  hair,  and  asked:  'Will  you  have 
bay-rum  or  water  ? '  The  old  party  opened  his  eyes  sleep 
ily,  and  replied:  'Well,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  I'll 
have  a  glass  of  beer.'" 


* 
* 


"  What  am  I  bid  for  May  beer  ? "  queried  the  Purveyor. 
"  There  is  quite  a  bulge  on  June  cocktails,  and  I  fear  a 
corner,  but  May  beer  appears  to  be  steady.  The  visible 
supply  seems  ample,  but  it  may  decrease  very  materially 
before  the  Agent  gets  through  with  it.  I  will  post  the 
quotations  at  to-morrow's  opening,  and  I  don't  think 
there  will  be  any  sold  on  the  curb.  Good-night,  all.'* 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE  RESULTS  OF  A  BAD  CIGAR — Why  the  Reporter  Reembraced  the 
Awful  Cigarette  Habit  After  Swearing  Off — A  Terrible  Torch — A 
4 '  Remsen  Cooler  " — Ned  Walsh's  Puzzle — A  Banana  Peel — The 
Fifty- Dollar  Loan — Tom  Keene  in  Citizen's  Dress — "  Hanky- 
Panky"  and  "Jesse  James" — Christmas-Tide — "We  Never 
Sleep." 

As  the  members  of  the  Turnover  Club  filed  into  the 
Usual  Resort  last  evening,  to  attend  the  regular  weekly 
meeting,  it  was  noticed  that  the  Reporter  looked  partic 
ularly  glum  about  something.  "Oh,  I'll  be  all  right  in 
a  day  or  two,"  he  replied,  when  questioned  as  to  the 
deep  gloom  surrounding  him.  "  My  wife  didn't  know 
any  better,  and  you  can't  blame  her;  she  meant  well. 
You  know  she  had  been  begging  me  to  quit  smoking 
cigarettes;  but  I  had  as  many  as  three  cells  of  one  lung 
left,  and  I  found  it  exceedingly  hard  to  give  up  such  a 
pleasant  method  of  suicide.  Of  course,  I  realized  that 
sooner  or  later  they  would  fetch  me — either  I  would  kill 
myself  with  them,  or  be  slain  by  some  man  in  whose 
presence  I  smoked  the  little  'coffin-tacks' — and  so  I 
finally  yielded,  and  started  in  on  a  corn-cob  pipe  at  home, 
and  five-cent  cigars  abroad.  With  the  cigarettes  selling 
at  two  for  a  cent,  my  wife  thought  that  a  nickel  was  too 
much  money  to  spend  for  a  single  cigar;  so  she  resolved 
to  surprise  me  on  my  birthday.  She  succeeded  beyond 
her  wildest  expectations.  Like  all  women,  she  relig 
iously  peruses  all  of  the  bargain  advertisements  in  the 
Sunday  papers;  and  in  one  of  them  last  Sunday  she 
noticed  an  advertisement  calling  attention  to  cigars,  in 

14  (209) 


210  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

boxes  of  fifty,  at  sixty-five  cents  per  box.  Cheap  enough, 
wasn't  it  ?  So  she  thought.  Resolved  that  I  was  un 
duly  extravagant  in  paying  five  cents  for  a  cigar  when 
I  could  get  half  a  hundred  for  thirteen  times  that 
amount,  she  bought  me  a  box  of  these  bargain-counter 
torches. 

"  Need  I  say  more  ?  "  asked  the  pale,  wan  Reporter. 
"  Is  not  my  troubled  expression  fully  explained  by  this 
explanation  ?  The  cigars  looked  all  right  in  the  box, 
and  after  dinner  I  settled  myself  in  my  easy-chair  to 
enjoy  a  siesta,  such  as  you  read  about  in  novels.  My 
suspicions  were  first  aroused  when  I  bit  off  the  end  of 
the  cigar  I  had  selected  from  the  box — it  crumbled.  A 
lighted  match  at  one  end  of  it,  and  my  combined  lung- 
power  at  the  other  end  of  it,  failed  to  produce  anything 
like  a  conflagration  in  the  alleged  fragrant  weed.  Then 
I  tunneled  it  with  a  knitting-needle,  and  met  with  better 
success  in  the  next  draw.  Clouds  of  smoke  filled  the 
room,  and  the  baby  regarded  me  reproachfully,  and  com 
menced  to  wail  pitifully.  My  economical  wife  opened 
the  window  and  leaned  far  out  into  the  night.  Large 
flakes  of  plastering  fell  from  the  ceiling,  and  great  beads 
of  cold  sweat  formed  in  columns  of  fours  upon  my  fore 
head,  and  took  up  a  line  of  march  toward  my  neck. 
Finally,  when  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  I  cast  the  weed 
into  the  street.  Vehicles  drove  around  the  block  to 
avoid  the  remains.  My  wife  went  to  my  overcoat,  fished 
out  of  the  pocket  an  old  and  weather-beaten  cigarette, 
and  handed  it  to  me.  'Light  that,'  she  said;  'even 
that  would  be  a  relief.'  This  morning  she  buried  the 
remainder  of  her  purchase  in  the  bowels  of  the  back 
yard.  Come  up  and  take  dinner  with  me  next  Sunday, 
and  I'll  dig  'em  up." 


A    "  REMSEN    COOLER."  211 

After  the  Reporter's  kind  invitation  had  been  declined, 
with  the  usual  ceremonies,  the  Purveyor  astonished  all 
hands  by  inviting  them  to  partake  of  a  freshly  imported 
beverage  known  as  a  "  Remsen  cooler."  It  was  a 
draught,  he  said,  which  had  been  recently  brought  back 
from  Cohasset,  Mass.,  by  the  Proprietor,  and  its  inventor 
was  William  H.  Crane,  the  popular  comedian,  who  had 
already  filed  his  application  for  a  copyright.  All  hands, 
excepting  the  Manager,  accepted  the  Purveyor's  kind 
and  unexpected  invitation;  and  he,  too,  fell  into  line 
after  he  had  ascertained  that  there  was  no  clause  in  the 
average  insurance  policy  which  excluded  death  by  poi 
soning.  Then  the  members  propped  themselves  up 
against  the  mahogany,  and  closely  watched  the  con 
struction  of  the  new  beverage,  two  of  which  were  made 
at  a  time.  First,  two  deep  and  slender  glasses  were 
stood  upon  the  bar;  then  the  Purveyor  took  a  keen- 
edged  knife  and  chased  the  rind  off  of  a  lemon,  in  both 
an  inspiring  and  spiral  manner.  This  spiral  was  sep 
arated  in  the  middle  with  the  knife,  and  a  snaky  piece  of 
lemon-peel  found  its  uncertain  way  into  each  glass. 
Three  small  lumps  of  ice  followed  suit;  and  also  into 
each  glass  went  what  is  technically  known  as  a  "jigger" 
of  negro  gin.  A  small  bottle  of  Delatour  soda  then  lent 
its  aid,  and  filled  the  glasses.  The  decoction  was  agi 
tated  with  a  slender  spoon,  and  was  then  ready  for  the 
palate.  When  every  member  had  been  duly  provided 
for,  the  signal  to  fire  was  given,  and  there  was  the  old, 
familiar  gurgle,  followed  by  the  highly  appreciative 
and  long-drawn-out  "Ah-h-h-h!"  The  "Remsen 
cooler"  had  scored  an  immense  hit  on  the  occasion  of 
its  first  production  in  Chicago;  and  it  will  doubtless 
be  played  to  "standing-room  only"  during  the  hot 
months. 


212  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

"  Our  old  friend  Ned  Walsh,  of  the  Union  News  Com 
pany,  turned  up  down-town,  the  other  day,  with  a  sample 
copy  of  a  new  puzzle  which  is  surely  destined  to  pro 
duce  more  gray  hairs  than  the  famous  *  pigs  in  clover* 
affair."  This  from  the  Professor.  "It  consists  of  a 
small,  square,  shallow  box,  fitted  with  a  glass  top,  which 
is  firmly  fixed  in  place.  Through  the  glass  is  seen  a 
spider's  web.  In  the  center,  is  the  spider;  and,  in  the 
back  of  the  make-believe  insect,  is  a  small  depression. 
In  two  corners  of  the  box  are  round,  red  spots,  and  in 
the  other  two  corners  round,  blue  spots.  Small  checkers 
of  felt — two  blue  and  two  red — are  on  this  painted  sur 
face,  also  a  good-sized  globule  of  lively  mercury.  The 
puzzle  consists  in  getting  the  blue  buttons  on  the  blue 
spots,  the  red  buttons  on  the  red  spots,  and  the  globule 
of  mercury  in  the  center  depression  on  the  spider's  back. 
This  is  accomplished  by  using  the  mercury  as  a  pusher 
to  place  the  buttons;  but  the  elusive,  silvery  substance 
persists  in  breaking  into  numerous  small  globules,  and 
chasing  around  in  the  box  on  its  own  hook.  A  steady 
hand  and  a  quick  eye  can  do  the  work;  but  the  hand 

must  be  very  steady,  and  the  eye  very  quick." 

*  * 
* 

During  the  entire  session  the  Agent  had  been  discon 
solately  nursing  a  lump  on  the  back  of  his  head,  just 
abaft  the  right  ear,  the  contusion  in  question  being  about 
the  size  and  general  contour  of  a  dark-red  billiard-ball. 
When  asked  what  caused  this  serious  enlargement,  he 
stated  that  his  foot  had  encountered  a  canary-colored 
banana-peel  on  a  North  Side  stone  sidewalk,  and  he  had 
subsequently  stooped  down  to  ascertain  what  the  matter 
was.  Of  course  it  had  been  just  his  luck  to  stoop  the 
wrong  way,  and  too  suddenly,  too,  hence  the  knob  on 
the  rear  of  his  cranium.  As  he  lay  groaning  upon  the 


THE    FIFTY-DOLLAR    LOAN.  213 

pavement,  vainly  endeavoring  to  collect  his  wits  and  two 
dollars  which  a  friend  owed  him,  a  couple  of  small  boys 
had  trotted  up,  and  one  of  them  had  said  to  him:  "Say, 
mister,  will  you  please  do  that  again  ? — my  little  brother 
didn't  see  it."  This  was  too  much,  under  the  trying  cir 
cumstances,  he  said;  and  he  arose  to  depart,  when  his 
other  foot  struck  the  same,  identical  banana-peel,  and  he 
slid  off  into  the  gutter,  bringing  up  with  a  sound  thump 
against  a  huge  section  of  water-main.  This  extra  mis 
hap  severely  bruised  his  shin,  and  a  passer-by  piled  on 
the  agony  by  casually  remarking  that  a  misguided  man, 
who  would  persist  in  "  hitting  the  pipe,"  was  always  sure 
to  get  the  worst  of  it.  As  the  Agent  finished  his  sad 
tale,  he  pulled  from  his  pocket  a  much-tangled  ball  of 
twine  and  calmly  proceeded  to  unravel  it,  explaining 
that  he  had  started  in,  on  the  morning  of  the  day  previ 
ous,  to  tie  a  knot  in  the  string  every  time  he  took  a  drink. 

The  result  could  be  readily  seen. 

*  * 

* 

During  this  recital,  the  Actor  had  been  engaged  in 
close  communion  with  the  Proprietor.  It  was  evidently 
a  case  of  "touch, "and  the  outcome  was  watched  with 
interest  by  the  members.  Finally,  the  Propfietor  shook 
his  head  very  energetically,  and  the  result  was  correctly 
surmised  by  those  most  interested.  It  appears  that  the 
Actor  had  applied  to  the  Proprietor  for  the  loan  of  fifty 
dollars.  He  wanted  it  for  thirty  days,  and  offered  to  give 
his  note  for  it.  The  Proprietor  agreed  to  take  this  bit  of 
paper,  provided  the  Actor  could  get  a  satisfactory  indorse 
ment  on  it,  but  the  latter  thought  that,  if  he  was  good 
for  the  amount  at  all,  he  did  not  need  an  indorsement. 
Then  he  asked  the  Proprietor  why  he  cared  for  anyone 
else's  signature,  and  the  Proprietor  said  it  was  merely  a 
matter  of  business — the  Actor  mi^ht  die  in  the  mean- 


214  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

time,  and  he  wanted  some  security  for  his  loan. 
"  You're  a  chump  !"  exclaimed  the  Actor,  in  disgusted 
tones.  "  Who  ever  heard  of  a  man  dying  in  thirty 
days?"  But  the  Proprietor  failed  to  see  it  in  that 
light,  and  the  unfortunate  Actor  was  compelled  to  go 
around  the  corner  and  procure  the  necessary  funds  on 

his  watch. 

*  * 
* 

"  Our  friend,  Manager  Will  J.  Davis,  is  happy  to-night," 
said  the  Reporter.  "  He  opens  the  new  Haymarket 
Theater,  and  Tom  Keene  is  helping  him  out.  The  trage 
dian,  by  the  way,  is  in  excellent  health  and  spirits.  His 
manager,  Ariel  Barney,  was  telling  me  of  a  funny  expe 
rience  they  had  recently  in  Macon,  Georgia.  It  was 
during  the  continuance  of  the  Southern  Exposition  at 
Atlanta,  and  the  Southern  baggage-smashers  had  a  little 
more  than  they  could  properly  attend  to  on  their  hands. 
After  traveling  all  night  and  the  best  part  of  the  day, 
the  Keene  company  finally  reached  Macon,  only  to  learn, 
greatly  to  their  dismay,  that,  through  an  oversight  of 
these  smashers,  their  baggage  had  all  been  left  behind. 
They  were  billed  to  appear  there  in  *  Julius  Caesar,'  and 
there  was  a -big  house.  Barney  urged  Keene  to  play 
the  piece  as  they  were,  and  he  finally  consented.  An  ex 
planation  was  made  to  the  audience,  and  it  was  stated 
that  all  those  present  who  so  desired  could  have  their 
money  refunded  by  calling  at  the  box-office.  Everyone 
remained  to  the  end,  however,  and  there  was  not  a  single 
laugh  during  the  entire  performance  of  '  Julius  Caesar,' 
by  a  company  attired  in  the  modern  traveling  costume 
of  actors.  You  know  Keene  is  baldheaded;  but  he  bor 
rowed  a  toupee  worn  by  Tom  Jackson,  of  the  company, 
and  rendered  the  lines  of  Marc  Antony,  forcibly,  in  a 
frock  coat.  Most  of  the  others  wore  lawn-tennis  shirts. 


"HANKY    PANKY  "    AND    "  JESSE    JAMES." 

Joe  Wheelock,  who  was  the  Brutus,  and  the  man  who 
played  Cassias,  were  both  bald,  and  they  envied  the 
star  his  toupee.  After  the  first  act,  Harry  Vance,  the 
stage  manager,  who  was  so  many  years  with  poor  John 
McCullough  in  the  same  capacity,  happened  to  think 
that  he  had  no  knives  for  the  murder  scene.  He 
hastily  sent  a  messenger  to  the  hotel  for  butcher- 
knives;  but  all  that  could  be  had  were  table-knives, 
consequently  Ccesar  was  slain  by  the  blade  of  a  Yankee 
cutlery  company,  imbedded  in  a  bone  handle;  but  the 
improvised  weapon  got  there  just  the  same,  as  the  say 
ing  is." 

*  * 
* 

"  Harry  Sellers,  who  is  here  ahead  of  Mrs.  James  Brown 
Potter,  was  telling  me  about  our  old  agent  friends, 
'Hanky  Panky '  Johnson  and  'Jesse  James'  Bowers," 
said  the  Manager.  "  Bowers,  it  appears,  had  an  uncle  die 
recently,  and  he  soon  learned  that  he  was  one  of  the  rela 
tives  to  whom  an  annuity  of  five  hundred  dollars  was  given 
in  the  will.  As  it  happened,  both  Bowers  and  Johnson 
were  starting  in  on  a  New  York  summer  in  that  unfortu 
nate  condition  so  aptly  described  by  the  expressive  term 
'broke; '  and  when  '  Hanky  '  heard  of  his  friend's  wind 
fall,  he  at  once  procured  a  small  whisk-broom,  and  con 
stantly  followed  Bowers  around,  brushing  him  continu 
ally,  and  waving  intruders  aside  with,  '  This  is  my  friend, 
and  you  must  keep  away  from  him  ! '  Then  they  learned 
that  the  five  hundred  dollars  were  to  come  in  groups  of  one 
thousand  dollars,  once  every  two  years — the  first  group 
not  being  due  until  two  years  hence.  When  '  Hanky 
Panky  '  heard  this,  he  at  once  handed  Bowers  the  whisk- 
broom,  and  said,  with  a  disgusted  air:  *  Now  you  take  this 
and  brush  me  until  you  get  the  stuff — I've  got  to  get 
even  in  some  way.'  " 


216  THE    TURNOVER    CI.UB. 

The  merry  Christmas-time  comes  to  Turnovers  as  well 
as  to  other  mortals;  and  the  members  drew  about  the 
yule-log,  and  allowed  the  joyous  spirit  of  the  time  to 
overspread  them  all,  last  evening,  before  they  parted. 
It  was  a  jolly  crowd,  indeed,  and  the  Proprietor  cheer 
fully  volunteered  to  do  his  part  by  donning  a  white 
cotton-batting  beard  and  a  burnt-cork  frown  and  appear 
ing  as  Kriss  Kringle.  However,  he  would  not  consent  to 
chance  a  descent  of  the  chimney,  as  he  had  been  but 
recently  arrested  for  violating  the  smoke  ordinance;  and 
besides,  he  feared  that  if  the  members  once  succeeded 
in  getting  him  into  the  chimney,  they  might  wedge  him 
in  securely,  and  then  burn  up  all  of  the  "tabs."  At  this 
point,  the  Reporter  begged  to  be  excused.  He  explained 
that  he  was  obliged  to  return  home  early  and  play 
Santa  Glaus  for  a  bright-eyed  little  daughter  of  two 
years,  and  he  expected  he  would  have  to  spend  some 
time  in  solving  the  problem  of  how  to  insert  six  feet  of 
toys  into  six  inches  of  sock.  For  weeks,  he  said,  he  had 
been  carefully  nursing  the  Santa  Glaus  fable,  and  design 
ing  new  verbal  garments  in  which  to  clothe  the  pleasing 
juvenile  lie.  He  expressed  his  willingness  to  wager 
almost  any  sum  that  when  that  little  head  touched  the 
pillow  of  the  crib  which  reposed  in  the  shadow  of  the 
big  bedstead,  the  said  little  head  would  be  filled  with  a 
procession  of  wonderful  visions,  embracing  reindeers, 
sleighs,  and  bells;  and  when  the  procession  reached  the 
reviewing  stand,  and  the  great,  big  eyes  unclosed  at 
early  dawn,  there  would  then  and  there  be  inaugurated 
one  of  the  largest  riots  in  history.  Time  was,  when  this 
little  one  was  much  younger,  the  Reporter  remarked, 
that  he  had  called  her  "  Miss  Pinkerton,"  because  "we 
never  sleep;"  but  now  Morpheus  reigned  at  early  candle 
light,  and  unless  the  toys  usurped  his  throne,  his  little 


"WE    NEVER    SLEEP."  217 

subject  would  bend  obedient  to  his  will,  and  never  weep 
and  wail  to  destroy  reportorial  rest.  All  of  the  members 
united  in  wishing  that  their  friend,  the  scribe,  would 
make  a  distinct  hit  in  his  rendition  of  the  r61e  of  St. 
Nicholas,  and  that  he  might  play  it  for  many  years  to 
big  houses. 


XXIV. 

THE  ACTOR  AT  THE  PLAY — He  Takes  in  a  New  Production,  and 
Thinks  He  Has  Witnessed  a  Millinery  Store — A  Daisy  of  a  Hat — 
The  Night  Clerk's  Plug — Matt  Snyder  and  Harry  Pratt — Going 
to  Bed  in  the  Dark — A  Turnover  Ball  Game — Willie  Hahn  Quits 
the  Mascotting  Business— Billy  Baxter's  Back  Tooth— An  Onion 
Breath. 

"Well,  I  have  just  been  over  to  the  Chicago  Opera 
House,  where  I  witnessed  a  new  production,"  said  the 
Actor  to  the  other  members  of  the  Turnover  Club,  as  he 
dropped  into  the  Usual  Resprt,  just  in  time  to  answer  to 
roll-call,  at  last  evening's  regular  meeting.  "  It  was  quite 
a  production,  too,"  he  continued,  "  so  far  as  I  was  able 
to  judge.  There  was  a  prologue,  and  about  four  acts. 
The  prologue  consisted  of  about  four  ostrich-tips,  and 
there  was  a  lapse  of  a  year  or  so  between  it  and  the  first 
act,  which  was  composed  of  a  yard  or  two  of  ribbon. 
The  interest  of  the  work  was  well  sustained,  throughout 
the  second  and  third  acts,  by  a  quantity  of  lace  and 
velvet;  and  the  denouement  was  reached  in  a  rolling 
brim,  comprising  a  sort  of  millinery  jack-pot,  in  which 
all  of  the  various  materials  stayed  in.  From  a  spectac 
ular  point  of  view,  the  production  was  a  huge  success. 
There  did  not  appear  to  be  much  body  to  the  plot,  but 
the  tout  ensemble  was  very  exciting,  although  it  did  wabble 
considerably.  As  I  left  the  theater,  I  heard  that  there 
had  been  another  production  occupying  the  stage;  but 
all  that  I  saw  during  the  evening  was  this  melodramatic 
and  spectacular  triumph  of  millinery  stagecraft.  I  think 
that  if  a  theater  has  two  productions  in  one  evening,  the 

(219) 


220  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

management  should  be  obliged,  by  law,  to  put  one  of 
them  up  in  the  curio-halls  and  leave  the  other  one  down 
in  the  theatorium,  to  speak  dimemuseumically;"  and  the 
Actor  proceeded  to  tear  off  a  piece  of  "  The  Flowers 
that  Bloom  in  the  Spring,  Tra  La." 


*  * 

* 


"  I  think  I  must  have  seen  the  performance  that  you 
missed,"  put  in  the  Night  Clerk,  "as  I  was  at  the  same 
theater,  and  I  saw  Robson  and  Crane  in  '  The  Henrietta.' 
Do  you  see  this  plug  hat  of  mine,  by  the  way?  "  and 
he  held  up  a  battered  tile  which  suggested  March  iyth. 
"  Dave  Henderson  and  Tom  Pryor  did  that,  and  I  intend 
to  make  'em  pay  for  a  new  one,  if  I  possibly  can.  That 
is,  they  started  this  week,  and  it  was  just  like  this:  When 
I  reached  the  theater,  I  pushed  my  way  through  the 
dense  throng  about  the  door,  with  some  difficulty,  to 
shake  hands  with  natty  little  Tommy  Shea,  the  repre 
sentative  of  the  two  comedians,  and  in  the  crush  this  hat 
of  mine  was  brushed  the  wrong  way  in  a  number  of 
spots.  When  I  finally  reached  my  seat,  I  leaned  over  to 
stow  the  '  dicer '  away  in  the  patent  rack  underneath. 
You  know  that  in  nearly  every  other  theater  in  town  you 
can  shove  hats  in  these  racks  sidewise,  but  at  the 
Chicago  Opera  House  they  go  in  lengthwise.  I  didn't 
know  this,  but  I  know  it  now,  to  my  sorrow.  I  shoved, 
and  struggled,  and  perspired  in  my  vain  efforts  to  crowd 
this  piece  of  head-gear  in  the  wrong  way;  and  when 
I  finally  ascertained  the  combination,  and  turned  it,  it 
looked  like  a  vestibuled  train  does  between  the  cars. 
Then  I  tried  to  play  myself  even  by  watching  otljer 
people  use  up  their  hats.  I  wouldn't  wonder  a  bit  if 
Henderson  and  Prior  get  a  percentage  from  Charlie 
Herrick,  the  hatter,  on  this  scheme;  for  when  I  com 
plained  to  Tom  about  it,  afterward,  he  coolly  informed 


MATT  SNYDER  AND  HARRY  PRATT.        221 

me  that  their  theater  was  very  high-toned,  and  they  pro 
posed  to  oblige  their  patrons  to  wear  crush  hats  at  every 
performance,  even  if  they  had  to  crush  'em  themselves. 
This  hat  of  mine  received  more  ruffling  in  the  crowd 
when  I  finally  left  the  theater;  and  as  I  started  on  a 
quick  run  across  the  street,  I  slipped  in  the  mud,  and 
made  two  cushions  before  I  reached  the  opposite  curb. 
It  was  a  dead  heat  between  me  and  the  hat,  and  as  I 
landed,  at  last,  I  heard  someone  say:  l  Gosh!  Ned,  that 
was  a  great  slide! '  I  looked  up,  and  there  stood 
Tommy  Burns  and  Ned  Williamson,  the  base-ball  boys. 
I  tell  you  I  was  hot.  This  tough  hat  is  the  result." 

* 

"  Our  friend  Matt  Snyder,  who  is  here  at  Hooley's 
with  '  Paul  Kauvar,'  has  secured  an  absolute  divorce  from 
his  beard  since  he  was  last  here  with  '  Harbor  Lights,' 
and  he's  had  a  sore  throat  ever  since."  This  from  the 
Agent.  "  He  looks  more  like  an  actor  without  his  whisk 
ers,  and  this  fact  occurred,  the  other  day,  to  Harry 
Pratt,  the  comedian,  who  was  walking  up  State  street 
with  Matt  at  the  time.  '  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Matt,' 
said  Harry,  '  if  I  walk  along  the  street  with  you,  people 
will  think  that  I  am  an  actor.'  And  Matt  replied: 
'  Never  mind,  Harry;  what  do  you  care,  so  long  as  I 
know  you're  not? '  It  was  a  cruel  stab,  but  when  Matt 
Snyder  is  given  an  opening  by  a  man,  that  man  must 
look  out  for  something  in  the  nature  of  a  body  blow.  In 
Matt's  wardrobe  trunks  there  are  very  many  suits  of  that 
satirical  raiment  known  as  *  kidding  clothes,'  and  Mat 
thew  is  rarely  without  a  suit  of  them  on." 

* 

"  Did  you  ever  think,"  broke  in  the  Purveyor,  "  what 
a  blooming  exhibition  a  man  must  make  of  himself  when 
he  goes  home  and  gropes  his  way  up  to  bed  in  the  dark? 


222  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

How  utterly  idiotic  his  actions  would  appear,  could  any 
one  see  him  with  his  arms  waving  around  wildly  in 
search  of  a  door  which  he  knows  should  be  there,  or 
lashing  the  atmosphere  with  his  legs  in  vain  efforts  to 
locate  a  flight  of  stairs  which  he  is  positive  can  not  have 
escaped!  This,  too,  when  he  is  dead,  cold  sober.  When 
he  is  loaded,  his  gyrations,  if  visible  to  the  naked  eye, 
would  traverse  the  .wildest  flights  of  the  imagination, 
and  his  movements  would  appeal  more  to  the  naked  ear, 
in  fact,  than  to  the  naked  eye;  but  it  would  be  funny 
enough  to  see  a  temperance  advocate  prowl  through  a 
dark  house.  Locating  the  key-hole  in  the  front  door 
with  your  night-key  is  a  comparatively  easy  task;  but, 
when  you  turn  out  the  gas  in  the  hall,  and  endeavor  to 
steal  second  base,  the  trouble  begins.  You  waver  along 
toward  the  stairs  until  you  begin  to  gain  confidence,  and 
then  you  push  ahead  more  rapidly,  only  to  be  suddenly 
halted  at  the  knees  by  a  chair  which  you  had  forgotten 
all  about.  At  last  you  strike  the  stairs,  and  carefully 
pick  your  way  up  to  the  long  front  hall.  Here  is  where 
you  pass  the  three-quarter  pole  and  turn  into  the 
straight.  You  think  it  is  all  plain  sailing,  and  go  along 
confidently;  but  at  the  distance-stand,  a  closet-door, 
which  had  been  accidentally  left  ajar,  creases  your  fore 
head,  and  you  finally  reach  your  room  by  the  aid  of  the 
pale-blue  light  emitted  by  your  profanity.  Not  wishing 
to  disturb  your  wife,  you  do  not  light  the  gas,  and  you 
disrobe  in  the  dark.  You  labor  under  the  delusion  that 
you  have  carefully  placed  your  clothes  on  the  proper 
chair,  and  when  you  see  them  the  next  morning  on  the 
floor,  you  wonder  who  kicked  them  to  pieces  during  the 
night.  The  sock  which  you  supposed  you  had  carefully 
tucked  into  its  corresponding  shoe,  you  find  in  the  arm- 
hole  of  your  vest,  and  its  mate  is  in  the  cuspidor. 


A    TURNOVER    BALL    GAME.  223 

When  you  have  undressed,  you  put  your  night-gown  on 
wrong  side  before,  and  when  you  have  righted  it,  you 
think  you  know  the  way  to  the  bed  in  the  dark,  and  only 
discover  your  error  when  you  attempt  to  climb  into  the 
alcove  wash-stand.  You  get  your  bearings  again,  and 
after  you  run  the  corner  of  the  bed  half  an  inch  into 
your  shin,  you  finally  crawl  in  between  the  upper  sheet 
and  a  fuzzy  blanket  and  drop  off  into  a  deep  sleep.  I 
wish  I  could  see  a  man  go  to  bed  in  the  dark.  It  must 

be  funny." 

*  * 

"  Have  any  of  you  noticed  the  Purveyor's  new  limp  ?  " 
queried  the  Agent.  "  He  discovered  it  out  at  the  ball 
game  between  the  Turnovers  and  the  'Paul  Kauvars,' 
last  week,  and  he  hasn't  consented  to  part  with  it  since. 
He  had  no  business  to  play  base-ball,  though,  as  all  he 
knew  of  the  game  was  how  to  mark  up  the  scores  on 
the  blackboard  over  there;  but  he  got  a  cap  and  a 
flannel  shirt,  and  thought  he  could  play,  so  he  was 
tolerated.  When  he  reached  the  grounds,  he  at  once 
went  out  near  the  pitcher's  box  and  began  to  dig  five 
holes  in  the  ground — thought  the  game  to  be  played  was 
the  old  one  we  used  to  call  '  holey  boley,'  wherein  the 
fellow  into  whose  particular  hole  the  ball  rolls  has  to 
try  and  swipe  one  of  the  others  with  the  ball.  Wonder 
what  he  would  have  thought  if  Joe  Ott  had  pasted  him 
one,  for  luck,  with  a  regulation  league  ball  ?  He  insisted 
upon  playing  second  base,  and  I  tried  to  get  Em  Gross, 
the  old  Providence  league  catcher,  to  act  as  our  back 
stop,  so  that  he  could  exercise  his  good  right  arm  by 
throwing  down  to  second.  Had  he  ever  fired  the  ball 
at  the  Purveyor,  the  latter  would  have  resembled  one  of 
those  swinging  figures  in  a  shooting  gallery.  He'll  never 
play  ball  again,  though,  and  I'll  bet  on  it.  The  next 


224:  THE    TURNOVER   CLUB. 

morning  after  the  game  he  couldn't  get  his  shoes  on ,  and 
he  had  to  come  down-town  in  a  pair  of  Arctic  overshoes. 
Looked  like  Paul  Boynton.  Sam  Morton  loaned  us  a 
couple  of  fine  wagon-tongue  bats  for  the  game,  and  the 
Purveyor  said  he  was  afraid  he  might  break  one  of  them. 
If  he  had,  he  would  have  had  to  use  an  ax,  as  he  never 
hit  anything  with  his  bat,  excepting  the  wind.  Oh,  he's 
a  great  ball-player,  he  is  !  " 


*  : 
# 


11  Speaking  of  base-ball,"  put  in  the  Reporter,  "  reminds 
me  that  little  Willie  Hahn,  the  Chicago's  mascot,  has 
retired  from  the  mascotting  business.  The  report  that 
Captain  Anson  had  employed  a  colored  mascot  made 
Willie  take  this  step.  But  he  has  not  retired  from  public 
life,  by  any  means.  He  is  now  a  circus  clown  and  gen 
eral  tumbler,  and,  since  his  debut  in  this  line,  his  head 
possesses  all  the  nooks  and  corners  of  a  cut-glass  tum 
bler.  He  visited  one  of  the  small  circuses  which  have 
been  braiding  Chicago's  outskirts,  some  time  ago,  and 
he  was  then  and  there  fired  with  a  consuming  ambi 
tion  to  have  a  circus  of  his  own.  When  he  asked  the 
privilege  of  raking  up  the  back  yard,  his  mother  thought 
that  there  must  be  something  in  the  wind,  as  he  would 
never  do  it  before,  when  asked.  Then  he  lugged  all  of 
the  butter-jars  up  out  of  the  cellar,  put  boards  across 
them  for  seats,  and  started  out  to  secure  talent.  He 
picked  up  half  a  dozen  stray  pups,  and  trained  them, 
and  then  he  secured  the  services  of  a  boy  who  can  play 
the  fiddle,  but  who  does  not  belong  to  the  musicians' 
union,  to  officiate  as  orchestra.  He  asked  his  mother  to 
sew  highly  colored  patches  on  his  night-gown,  which  is 
a  sort  of  a  vestibuled  affair,  in  which  the  waist  and  the 
continuations  are  joined.  After  he  had  donned  this,  he 
whitened  his  face  in  the  flour-barrel,  and  gave  the  show. 


225 

He  had  thirty-six  cents  in  the  house,  all  told,  and  his 
troupe  of  performing  dogs  left  about  thirty-six  more 
scents  in  the  back  yard.  Little  Willie  will  be  out  again 
as  soon  as  the  swelling  goes  down." 


*  * 
* 


"  Our  friend  Professor  Billy  Baxter,  the  banjoist,  had 
quite  an  experience  last  week,"  said  the  Agent.  "  An 
exceedingly  robust  back  tooth  had  been  awakening  the 
echoes  in  his  jaw  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  finally  decided 
to  have  it  out;  so  he  cast  about  for  a  good  dentist,  and 
found  one  whose  sign  bore  the  very  appropriate  and 
suggestive  name  of  '  Leggo.'  What  a  name  for  a  dentist '. 
Well,  the  Professor  was  a  little  timid  when  he  first  started 
in,  and  he  decided,  before  going  up  to  the  dentist's,  to 
walk  around  to  Tommy  Newman's  place  and  have 
Tommy  etherize  him.  He  etherized  him  several  times, 
with  a  dash  of  absinthe,  and  apollinaris  on  the  side, 
and  then  the  lamb  went  to  the  slaughter,  as  it  were.  At 
the  first  attempt,  the  aching  tooth  successfully  dodged 
the  forceps,  and  Leggo  had  to  use  a  kindergarten  crow 
bar  to  raise  the  molar.  This  operation  was  both  delicate 
and  painful.  The  Professor's  favorite  instrumental  selec 
tion  is  'Songs  without  Words;'  but,  on  this  particular 
occasion,  he  rendered,  vocally,  '  Songs  with  a  Great 
Number  of  Words,'  many  of  which  are  quite  unfit  for 
publication.  At  last,  the  tooth  succumbed  and  came 
out,  whereupon  Leggo  said:  *  I  have  pulled  your  tooth.' 
The  Professor  did  not  seem  greatly  pleased  at  this,  and 
he  replied:  *  Well,  I  thought  you  had  pulled  a  gambling- 
house.  I  suppose  now  that  you  desire  to  "  pull  my  leg;"  ' 
and  he  paid  the  charges,  and  wrapped  up  the  troublesome 
molar  to  show  to  his  friends,  not  necessarily  for  publica 
tion,  but  as  a  guarantee  of  good  faith." 

15 


226  THE    TURNOVER   CLUB. 

"I've  been  vainly  endeavoring  all  the  evening  to 
assassinate  this  onion  breath  of  mine,"  said  the  Agent, 
as  he  picked  the  last  clove  out  of  the  spice  dish  and 
proceeded  to  nibble  at  it.  "  I  was  told  that  they  were 
young  onions,  but  I'll  bet  those  I  ate  had  gray  whiskers 
on  'em.  No  one  needs  such  a  breath  as  they  impart 
except  the  trombone  player  in  a  Wagner  orchestra.  It's 
hard  to  get  rid  of,  too.  At  first,  it  is  a  sort  of  an  edition 
de  luxe,  with  elaborate  illustrations;  the  next  day,  it  is 
issued  in  two  volumes,  bound  in  board;  and  toward  the 
latter  part  of  the  week,  it  is  published  in  paper  covers- 
sort  of  a  cheap  edition  to  sell  on  trains.  Mine  even 
goes  beyond  that  sometimes,  and  gets  to  the  Seaside 
Library  stage.  Well,  it's  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  and  if  we 
don't  adjourn  soon,  this  respiration  of  mine  is  liable  to 
break  the  Sabbath."  So  they  adjourned. 


XXV. 

A  TURNOVER  CLUB  FEAST— The  Celebrated  Banquet  at  the  Organ 
ization's  One  Hundredth  Session — A  Rare  Menu— The  Proprie 
tor  as  a  "  Roast- Master  " — The  Manager  Talks  of  the  Pass— Bob 
Bagley  and  the  Railroads — The  Agent's  Weakness — The  Re 
porter's  Minutes. 

The  one  hundredth  meeting  of  the  Turnover  Club 
was  celebrated  last  evening,  in  the  Usual  Resort,  with  all 
sorts  of  eclat  and  bonhomie,  and  five  different  brands  of 
beer.  The  original  intention  was  to  hold  the  cele 
bration  at  the  Hotel  Richelieu;  but  the  Manager,  who 
had  been  appointed  to  arrange  for,  as  well  as  settle  for, 
the  banquet,  thought  that  he  might  possibly  be  hungry 
during  the  rest  of  the  year,  and  he  wanted  to  hold  it  at 
Kohlsaat's,  or  some  more  modest  place.  It  was  finally 
decided,  however,  that  it  would  be  most  appropriate  to 
have  the  banquet  take  place  in  the  Usual  Resort;  and 
accordingly  the  Club  caterer  was  instructed  to  arrange  a 
large  and  soul-stirring  luncheon.  It  was  announced  that 
admission  would  be  by  card  only,  and  the  Committee  of 
Arrangements  proceeded  to  put  up  a  job  to  bar  out  the 
Agent.  They  did  not  invite  him,  and  they  issued  but 
fifty-two  invitations  to  the  affair.  This  took  up  all  of 
the  cards  in  the  full  deck,  and  the  members  thought  that 
they  were  safe;  but,  when  time  was  called  for  the  first 
course,  the  cunning  and  wily  Agent  turned  up  smiling 
with  the  "joker,"  and  subsequently  occupied  a  front 
seat.  It  was  a  most  joyous  gathering;  and  as  we  go  to 
press,  we  hear  the  merry  carol  of  the  patrol-wagon's 
bell,  and  are  unable  to  state  whether  the  participants  in 

(227) 


228  THE    TURNOVER   CLUB. 

the  affair  will  read  the  account  of  their  banquet  in  the 
Armory  or  in  the  Central  Station. 


:     * 

* 


The  decorations  of  the  tables  were  remarkably  hand 
some.  The  tables  were  arranged  in  the  form  of  a  Mal 
tese  cross,  though  by  the  time  the  entries  were  reached 
this  arrangement  was  somewhat  disfigured.  In  the 
center  of  the  table  was  a  large  flagon  of  Worcestershire 
sauce,  every  one  of  which  bore  the  signature  of  the 
author.  Late  in  the  evening,  the  atmosphere  was  all 
hand-painted,  and  the  prevailing  color  was  red.  The 
floral  pieces  were  very  pretty.  Festoons  of  smilax  chased 
one  another  around  the  base-ball  and  horse-race  ticker, 
and  mingled  with  the  reports  of  the  day's  sporting 
events  in  the  neighboring  basket.  The  cake  of  glass  ice 
on  the  end  of  the  lunch-counter  was  richly  laden  with 
papicr-macM  lobsters,  red-flannel  radishes,  and  tissue- 
paper  lettuce,  forming  a  most  striking  and  taking  ensem 
ble.  Each  member  of  the  Club  wore  a  small  button-hole 
bouquet,  which  the  Agent  vainly  endeavored  to  call 
"boutonnieres"  He  only  gave  up  attempting  to  pro 
nounce  the  word  when  he  found  it  utterly  impossible  to 
include  the  entire  alphabet  between  the  first  and  last 
letters.  Toward  morning,  by  the  way,  the  Proprietor 
was  decorated  with  an  elaborate  Marechal  Niel  com 
plexion,  and,  taken  all  in  all,  the  decorations  were  of  the 
finest  description. 

The  menu  was  made  the  subject  of  grave  and  pro 
tracted  discussion  by  the  Committee.  The  Counsellor 
could  suggest  nothing  but  "  soup "  and  "nuts."  He 
said  that  he  had  often  heard  the  expression  "  from  soup 
to  nuts  "  employed  in  referring  to  well-regulated  ban 
quets  of  all  sorts,  and  he  certainly  believed  they  should 


A    RARE    MENU.  229 

have  both — one  at  each  end  of  the  menu.  It  did  not 
make  much  difference  as  to  what  went  in  between,  so 
long  as  they  had  "  soup  "  for  the  prologue  and  "  nuts  " 
for  the  afterpiece.  When  the  menu  cards  were  finally 
perfected,  they  were  veritable  works  of  art.  Upon  the 
cover  was  an  etching  of  the  Proprietor  and  the  two  Pur 
veyors,  couchant,  with  the  intertwined  motto,  "  Please 
pay  at  the  bar."  Upon  the  fly-leaf  of  each  was  printed 
the  name  of  the  guest,  together  with  the  amount  of  his 
tab,  and  a  gracefully  worded  request  to  settle  at  once. 
Between  the  leaves  was  the  following  unique  and  blase 
menu: 

SOUP. 

Clam  Cocktail  (with  compliments). 
Weiss  Beer. 

FISH. 

Royal  Sucker,  a  la  Counsellor. 
Edelweiss  Beer. 

ROASTS. 

Every  One  (with  no  favorites). 
Bock  Beer. 

GAME. 

Hearts.  Woodstock  Poker.  Welsh  Rabbits. 

Pilsener   Beer. 

ENTREES. 

Theater  Passes.  Expired  Annuals. 

Culmbacher  Beer. 

DESSERT. 

Mush  Pie.  Olives.  Toothpicks. 

Crackers  and  Cheese.  Doughnuts. 

Barnyard  Beer. 

Coffee.  Cigarettes.  Disinfectants. 

The  Check. 

Beer. 


230  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

Of  course,  the  Proprietor  was  the  "  roast-master  "  of 
the  occasion;  and  when  he  arose  from  his  seat,  at  the 
proper  time,  he  was  greeted  with  both  vociferous  ap 
plause  and  a  piece  of  pie.  After  one  of  these  had  sub 
sided  sufficiently,  and  he  had  removed  the  pieces  of  the 
other  from  his  shirt-front,  he  cleared  his  throat,  and  said: 
"  Brother  Turnovers,  we  gather  round  the  festive  board 
to-night  to  celebrate  the  one  hundredth  meeting  of  our 
little  Club."  At  this  point,  the  Manager  cried  out, 
"  Hear!  Hear! "  and  the  Agent  misunderstood  him, 
thinking  that  he  said  "  Beer! "  After  the  attendant 
excitement  had  subsided  somewhat,  and  the  guests  had 
rubbed  the  luckless  Agent  against  the  ice-box  until  he 
was  thoroughly  frapped,  the  Proprietor  resumed:  "  We 
have  had  many  pleasant  evenings  together,  and  if  we 
have  said  anything  we  are  sorry  for,  we  are  glad  of  it. 
Upon  such  an  auspicious  occasion  as  this,  however,  I 
think  it  is  meet  that  we  hear  from  the  various  brethren 
present;  and  I  wish  to*  say  right  here,  that  unless  the 
Agent  remains  in  a  comatose  state  during  the  pro 
gress  of  these  exercises,  I  will  see  that  he  is  taken  out 
into  the  alley  and  driven  into  the  ground  with  his  feet 
toward  the  zenith.  Now  be  seated,  gentlemen — the 
opening  overture;"  and  the  Professor  attuned  his  lyre, 
and  received  an  ovation  at  the  hands  of  the  Agent 
when  he  started  the  ball  a-rolling  with  a  stirring  rendi 
tion  of  that  favorite  air  entitled,  "  Chippie,  Get  Your 

Hair  Cut." 

*  * 
* 

"  As  the  Manager  is  at  the  left  of  the  dealer,"  remarked 
the  Proprietor,  "  I  will  now  call  upon  him  to  respond  to  the 
sentiment, '  The  Railroad  Pass  vs.  the  Theater  Pass.'  "  A 
few  of  the  Manager's  neighbors  united  in  propping  him  up 
against  the  adjacent  steam-coil,  and  after  he  had, with  some 


BOB    BAGLEY    AND    THE    RAILROADS.  231 

difficulty,  sighted  the  roast-master,  he  boldly  started  in. 
He  declared  that  he  had  fully  decided  to  boycott  the  rail 
roads  hereafter,  and  he  sincerely  hoped  that  his  brother 
managers  would  lose  no  time  in  instructing  their  door 
keepers  to  signally  sit  down  upon  all  railroad  men  who 
attempted  to  walk  in  by  merely  inquiring,  in  a  casual 
way,  "  How's  the  house  to-night?"  This  was  wrong. 
"I  am  very  glad  to  see,"  he  continued,  "that  Brother 
Bob  Bagley,  of  the  Grand  Opera  House,  has  already 
bluffed  some  of  these  presumptuous  knights  of  the  rail, 
and  I  hope  he'll  continue,  in  this  way,  to  get  even  with 
'em.  It  reminds  me  of  a  story  Bagley  told  me  to-day, 
about  a  man  whom  he  passed  into  the  theater  the  other 
night  to  witness  the  performance  of  Herrmann,  the 
magician.  This  party  was  slightly  loaded  at  the  time, 
and  he  appropriated  a  front  seat.  Pretty  soon,  the  great 
wizard  came  along  and  asked  him  for  the  loan  of  a 
watch  and  chain.  The  man  had  been  dozing,  but  when 
Herrmann  addressed  him,  he  pulled  himself  together 
and  fumbled  in  his  vest-pocket.  Then  he  regarded 
the  prestidigitateur  dreamily,  and  said:  *  Ole  man,  I 
haven't  got  any  watch  and  chain  with  me  just  now,  but 
here's  the  ticket,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good;'  and  he 
produced  that  precious  bit  of  paper.  And  now  I'll 
sit  down/'  concluded  the  Manager.  "  I  know  perfectly 
well  that  I  haven't  said  anything  about  the  sentiment 
I  was  to  speak  to,  but  no  one  ever  does  do  that  at  a 
banquet,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  break  the  record  on 

this  occasion." 

*  * 
* 

As  the  Proprietor  arose  to  propose  the  next  sentiment 
on  the  list,  a  tear  glistened  in  his  eye.  This  tear  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  as  though  it  was  not  quite  sure  who  was 
"  on  the  door,"  and  then  it  shyly  came  forth  and  slid 


232  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB, 

down  his  cheek.  "  I  will  now  call  upon  the  Agent  to 
respond  to  the  toast,  '  Our  Absent  Brothers.'  "  His  voice 
was  choked  with  emotion — at  least,  the  Proprietor  said 
it  was  emotion,  but  the  Actor  declared  it  was  Pilsener. 
"It  would  be  proper,"  he  resumed,  "that  this  toast  be 
drunk  standing  and  in  silence,  but  it  is  evidently  impos 
sible  for  the  Agent  to  fulfill  those  conditions  under 
existing  circumstances.  He  may  be  drunk,  but  I  don't 
think  he  can  stand,  and  I  am  sure  he  can  not  be  silent; 
so  we  will  be  obliged  to  dispense  with  the  usual  scenic 
effects.  Will  some  of  the  brothers  kindly  place  the 
speaker  against  the  ice-box,  and  hook  his  vest-strap  to 
the  ale-faucet,  so  that  there  may  be  no  danger  of  his 
spilling?  Now,  sir,  you  can  proceed  (or  can  try  to),  but 
please  bear  in  mind  that  under  the  revised  rules  the 
batsman  hit  by  a  pitched  ball  is  given  his  base.  After 
this  seeming  lapse  of  ten  years,  we  will  now  ring  the 
curtain  up  on  the  first  act."  The  Agent,  who  had  been 
pulling  himself  together  during  this  introduction,  lan 
guidly  expectorated  into  the  wide,  wide  world,  and  mur 
mured:  "I  am  to  talk  of  the  absent  ones,  I  believe;  but  I 
seem  to  see  so  many  faces  before  me  now  that  I  do  not 
think  there  can  be  anyone  absent.  Now  this  may  be  the 
fault  of  a  defective  vision;  but  any  man  who  has  suc 
cessfully  played  the  entire  repertory  to-night,  and  piled 
an  Ossa  of  Edelweiss  upon  a  Pelion  of  Pilsener,  could 
not  be  blamed  for  magnifying  a  song-and-dance  team 
into  a  Republican  majority  in  Pennsylvania.  We  are 
all  here,  it  seems  to  me;  and  if  anyone  is  absent,  it  must 
be  because  they  have  failed  to  register  since  the  last 
election.  If  any  are  away,  and  they  are  my  kind  of 
people,  I'll  bet  they  are  with  us  in  spirit "  and  with 
this  concluding  remark,  the  Agent  fell  into  a  gentle 
doze. 


THE  REPORTER'S  MINUTES.  233 

"  Will  some  of  the  brothers  kindly  unhook  the  speaker 
and  place  him  on  file  ?  "  suggested  the  Proprietor.  This 
was  done,  and  the  waiters  proceeded  to  serve  the  Roman 
punch.  It  had  been  intended  to  serve  this  in  molds  of 
the  shape  and  form  of  the  Agent's  head,  but  this  idea 
was  abandoned  when  it  was  discovered  how  much  punch 
it  would  require.  The  punch  was  a  success,  however, 
notwithstanding  the  change.  The  two  Purveyors  were 
then  called  upon  to  give  a  pleasing  exhibition  of  the 
difficult  art  of  mixing  drinks  and  making  rapid  change. 
The  Senior  Purveyor  successfully  performed  the  hazard 
ous  feat  of  concocting  a  rum-sour  with  his  left  hand  and 
a  gin-fizz  with  his  right  hand,  while  he  made  change  at 
the  same  time  with  both  hands  and  looked  pleasant, 
changing  the  entire  expression  of  his  face  without  leav 
ing  the  stain.  This  wonderful  achievement  was  accom 
plished  without  the  use  of  a  net.  The  Junior  Purveyor 
gave  a  striking  example  of  sympathy  for  a  customer  by 
making  a  small  bottle  of  White  Seal  fill  six  glasses.  He 
incidentally  remarked  that  he  had  a  very  dear  old  friend 
in  Champaign,  111.,  who  had  petitioned  the  City  Council 
of  that  place  to  change  its  name  from  Champaign,  111.,  to 
White  Seal,  111. 


#  * 
* 


When  the  Reporter  left  the  Usual  Resort  to  write  up 
the  minutes  of  this  red-letter  meeting  from  the  blurred 
records  on  his  cuff,  the  Agent  had  started  in  on  soup 
again,  and  expressed  his  intention  of  playing  another 
string.  The  Counsellor  and  the  Night  Clerk  were  deeply 
engaged  in  a  heated  argument  as  to  the  relative  merits  of 
the  high-license  and  the  early-closing  ordinances.  The 
Professor  was  fiercely  remonstrating  with  the  Actor  for 
attempting  to  make  an  omelette  in  his  banjo.  The  Man 
ager  was  vainly  endeavoring,  with  a  fogged  intellect,  to 


234  THE    TURNOVER    CLUB. 

clearly  indite  a  pass  for  two.  And  the  Proprietor  and 
the  two  Purveyors  were  busily  engaged  in  preparing  the 
check  for  the  spread.  It  was  a  great,  large  night — but 
wait  until  this  morning. 


THE    END. 


MUSICAL  PEOPLE 

SHOULD  KNOW  THAT  WE  KEEP  THE 

LARGEST  and  MOST  COMPLETE  STOCK  of 
MUSICAL  GOODS  to  be  found  ANYWHERE. 


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Organs,  Star  Banjos,  Etc. 


WE    ARE    AGENTS    FOR 

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THE  KROEGER  AND  THE  FISCHER  PIANOS. 

Descriptive    Catalogues   and   Circulars    of    all    kinds    of 
Musical  Goods  sent  free  on  application. 

Correspondence  and  personal  inspection  invited. 


WAREROOMS:  FACTORY: 

State  and  Monroe  Sts.,    Randolph  St.,  Opp.  Union  Park, 

QHICKOO. 


A.G.SPALDING&BROS. 


241    BROADWAY, 

NEW  YORK. 


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CATALOGUES  FREE. 

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SOLID  VESTIBULED   TRAINS 

Between  Chicago  and  New  York  and  Boston, 


Why  do  we  all  Smoke 

annum  iinnm" 


*   CIQAR.B? 

BECAUSE  THEY  ARE  MADE  FROM 

TfiE  Finest  Tobacco  Grown, 

AND  MANUFACTURED  BY  THE  GREAT  HOUSE  OF 

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And  endorsed  by  the  sterling  and  popular  actress 
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SMOKE    NO    OTHERS. 


WALTHAM 

HORSE-TIMER'S 

CHRONOGRAPH 


ACCURATE,    DURABLE, 
STRONG. 


FOR  SALE  BY  ALL  RETAIL   JEWELERS. 


MONROE  AND  DEARBORN  STS., 
CHICAGO. 


The  Leading  Theatre  of  the  City. 

MOST   CONVENIENT    TO   THE    PRINCIPAL    HOTELS. 


The    Management  will  present  only  Prominent 
Stars  and  the  more  Notable  Attractions. 


CHOICE    RESERVED    SEATS 

On  sale  at  the  News  Stands  of  the  Hotels,  and  at  Joseph  & 
Fish's,  155  State  Street. 


/I  AVILL  J.  DAVIS. 

WEST  MADISON  AND  HALSTED  STS., 
CHICAGO. 

The  largest  Theatre    in   the  City  and   the  most 
modern  in   all   its  appointments. 

THE  LEADING  COMBINATION  HOUSE  OF  AMERICA. 


Open  every  night  and  regular  matinees  from  September  1st  to  June  15th 
each  year,  changing  attraction  every  week  and  presenting  all  of  the  popular 
combinations  in  the  country. 

THE    POPULAR    AND    ORIGINAL    HAYMARKET    PRICES. 

Entire  Gallery,  benches $    .15 

Entire  Family  Circle,  reserved  chairs 25 

Entire  Balcony,  reserved  chairs 50 

Dress  Circle,  reserved  chairs 75 

Parquette  Circle  and  Parquette,  reserved  chairs 1 .00 

Davis1  Turkish  Chairs,  the  finest  ever  placed  in  any  theatre 1 .50 


State  Street  Sale:  Joseph  &  Fish's,  No.  155,  and  Lyon  &  Healy,  Cor.  Monroe. 


WABASH 

w  H     m 


i  UNTIE. 


THE   POPULAR   LINE   FROM 

CHICAGO™ 
KANSAS  CITY 

ST.  LOUIS,  HOT  SPRINGS,  ARK., 

SPRINGFIELD, 
JACKSONVILLE,  PEORIA, 

DECATUR,  QUINCY, 
AND  ALL  POINTS  WEST  AND  SOUTHWEST. 


The  WABASH  is  the  only  line  between  Chicago  and  St. 
Louis  running  SOLID  VESTIBULE  Trains  composed  of 
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MEALS  IN  FAMOUS  WABASH  DINING  CARS. 


AND    ONLY 

THROUGH 


ROUTE 

BETWEEN 


TO  Los  AngEles$SanFrancisGO 


VIA  NEW  ORLEANS 


SEE  THAT  TICKETS  READ 
VIA  ILLINOIS  CENTRAL 


T.   J.   HUDSON,    Traffic   Manager. 

M.  0.  MARKHAM,  Ass't  Traffic  Manager, 

A.  H.  HANSON,  General  Passenger  Agent 


MONON  ROUTE 


CD)  LOUISVILLE. 


THE    PULLMKN    MESTIBULE    LINE 

BETWEEN 

GHIC  AQO, 
LOUISVILLE  AND  THE  SOUTH, 

ITOIANAPOLIS,  OIHOINNATI,  ACT  THE  SOUTH. 

Offers  choice  of  5  Daily  Trains  between  Chicago  and  the  Ohio  River. 


The-celebrated  twin  sanitarium  resorts,  West  Baden,  and  French  Lick  Springs  are 
located  on  the  Monon  Route.  The  waters  of  these  springs  are  justly  celebrated  for 
their  curative  virtues  in  all  diseases  of  the  blood  and  skin. 

For  pamphlets  containing  analysis,  testimonials,  special  rates,  schedules,  etc., 
address  any  agent  of  the  Monon  Route,  or 

JAMES   BARKER,  Gen'l  Passenger  Agent,  Monon  Block,  Chicago. 


WHEN    YOU   CO   TO 

DETROIT,  NIAGARA  FALLS, 
NEW  YORK,  BOSTON, 

AND  INTERMEDIATE  POINTS. 


gW°  Rates  \  ia  this  line  to  Boston  $3.00  and  to  New  York  $2.00  lees  than  made 
by  any  other  line  via  Niagara  Falls. 


Depot,    Dearborn    Station. 

CHAS.  M.  HAYS,       C.  S.  CRANE,         F.  CHANDLER, 

General  Manager,      Ass't  Gen'l  Pass,  and  Ticket  Agt.,   Gen'l  Pass,  and  Ticket  Agt. 
St.  Louis.  St.  Louis. 

F.  A.  PALMER,  Assistant  General  Passenger  Agent, 
109  Clark  Street,  Chicago. 


New  York  Central 


AND 


Hudson  River  Railroad, 


THE  ONLY  4-TRAGK  LINE  IN  THE  WORLD. 


The  Only  Line  Having  a  Depot  in  New  York. 


SHORT    LINE 

To  ALL  NEW  YORK  AND  NEW 

ENGLAND  SUMMER  RESORTS. 


ELEGANT  SERVICE  AND  QUICK  TIME. 


W     B.  JEROME,  CEO.   H.   DANIELS, 

Gen'l  Western  Tass'r  Agent,  General  Passenger  Agent, 

CHICAGO.  NEW  YORK. 


THE 


}  WISCONSIN  f 
/  CENTRAL  \ 
LINES    \ 


NORTHERN  PACIFIC 
v     RAILROAD  CO.    > 


RUN 

Fast  Trains  with  Pullman  Vestibuled  Draw 
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latest  design,  between  Chicago  and  Milwaukee 
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Fast  Trains  with  Pullman  Vestibuled  Draw 
ing  Room  Sleepers,  Dining  Cars  and  Coaches  of 
latest  design,  between  Chicago  and  Milwaukee 
and  Ashland  and  Duluth. 

Through  Pullman  Vestibuled  Drawing 
Room  and  Colonist  Sleepers,  via  the  North 
ern  Pacific  Railroad,  between  Chicago  and 
Portland,  Ore. 

Convenient  Trains  to  and  from  Eastern, 
Western,  Northern  and  Central  Wisconsin  Points, 
affording  unequaled  service  to  aud  from  Wau- 
kesha,  Fond  du  L,ac,  Oshkosh,  Neenah, 
Menasha,  Chlppewa  Falls,  Eau  Claire, 
Hurley,  Wis.,  and  Ironwood  and  Bessemer, 
Mich. 

For  tickets,  sleeping  car  reservations,  time  tables 
and  other  information,  apply  to  Agents  of  the  line, 
or  to  Ticket  Agents  anywhere  in  the  United  States 
or  Canada. 

S.  B.  AINSLIE,  General  Manager,  MILWAUKEE,  WIS. 
J.  M.  HANNAFOBD,  Qen'l  Traffic  Mgr.,  ST.  PAUL,  MINN. 
H.  C.  BASLOW,  Traffic  Manager,  .  MILWAUKEE,  WIS. 
LOUIS  ECKSTEIN,  Ass't  Qen'l  Pass'r  and  Tk't  Agt., 


Pullman  Buffet  Sleeping  Qirs 

CHICAGO 


TO 


NASHVILLE 


VIA 


FAST  TIME  TO  THE 


CHICAGO  CITY  TICKET  OFFICE 
204  CLARK  STREET. 


«*A  book  without  a  parallel."— Hon.  W.  E.  Gladstone. 
JOURNAL  OF 

Marie  Bashkirtseff. 


TRANSLATED    BY    A.   D.  HALL. 


Beautifully  and  Artistically  Bound  in  one  Volume,  with  Portrait, 
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were  it  to  write?" 

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44  A  PRINCE  OF  THE  BLOOD.    By  James  Payn. 

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46  MONA'S  CHOICE.     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

47  ANSELMA;  or,(In  Spite  of  All.    V.  Sardon.    Adapted  by  .4.  D.  Hall. 

49     THE  STORY  OF  ANTHONY  GRACE.    By  0.  Mamllle  Fenn. 


50  A  FALSE  START.     By  Hawley  Smart. 

51  A  LIFE  INTEREST.     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

52  A  FLURRY  IN  DIAMONDS.    By  "Amos  Chipiree." 

53  BARBARA.     By  the  author  of  "Tracking  the  Truth." 

54  THE  PASSENGER  FROM  SCOTLAND  YARD.    By  II.  F.  Wood. 

55  HERR  PAULUS.     By  Walter  Besant. 

56  THE  PARTNERS  ;  or,  Fremont,  Jr.  and  Risler,  Sr     By  Alpbonse  Baudet. 

57  THE  WRONG  ROAD.     By  Arthur  Griffiths. 

58  KING  OR  KNAVE.     By  R.  E.  Francillo«. 

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60  NAPOLEON  AND  MARIE  LOUISE.    By  Madame  La  Gencrale  Durand. 

61  CHRIS      By  W.  E.  Norris. 

62  OLD  BLAZER'S  HERO.    By  David  Christie  Murray. 

63  64  LA  TOSCA.    Adapted  by  A.  D.  Hall,  from  V.  Sardou.    Illustrated.     Double 

65  THE  MYSTERY  OF  A  HANSOM  CAB.    By  Fergus  W.  Hume. 

66  A  MYSTERY  STILL.     By  F.  du  Boisgobey. 

67  THE  HEIR  OF  LINNS.     By  Robert  Buchanan. 

68  BY  MISADVENTURE.    By  Frank  Barrett. 

69  LADY  HUTTON'S  WARD.    By  B.  M.  Clay. 


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71  MR.  MEESON'S  WILL.     By  H.  Rider  Haggard. 

72  DR    GLENNIE'S  DAUGHTER.    By  B.  L.  Farjeon. 

73  IN  ALL  SHADES.  By  Grant  Allen. 

74  JOE:  A  REMARKABLE  CASE.    By  E.  R.  Roe. 

75  DANIRA.     From  the  German  of  E.  Werner,  by  J.  M.  Percival. 

76  LIVING  OR  DEAD.     By  Hugh  Conway. 

77  VALERIE;  or.  Half  a  Truth.    By  "  The  Duchess." 

78  A  MERE  CHILD.     By  L.  B.  Walford. 

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81  THE  STORY  OF  AN  AFRICAN  FARM.    By  Olive  Schreiner. 

82  THE  UNPOPULAR  PUBLIC.    By  Litere. 

83  THE  DREAM.     By  Einile  Zola. 

84  THE  ROGCJE.     By  W.  E.  Norris. 

85  MISS  BRETHERTON.    By  Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward. 

§6  A  DANGEROUS  CATSPAW.    By  D.  C.  and  H.  Murray. 
7  RALEIGH  RIVERS.    By  O.  O'B.  Strayer. 

88  JACK  DUDLEY'S    WIFE.    By  E.  M.  Davy. 

89  THE  M  ADDOXES.     By  Je  in  Middlemass. 

90  ADAM  BEDE.     By  George  Eliot. 

91  THE  QUEEN'S  TOKEN.    By  Mrs.  Cashel  Hoey. 

92  THE  LADIES'  GALLERY.    By  Justin  McCarthy,  and  Mrs  C.  Praed. 

93  THE  ENGLISHMAN  OF  THE  RUE  CAIN.    By  H.  P.  Wood. 

94  IS  MARRIAGE  A  FAILURE  ?    Edited  by  H.  Quilter. 

95  ALMEDA.     By  Dr.  N.  T.  Oliver. 

96  MADEMOISELLE  SOLANGE.    By  F.  de  Julliot. 

97  THE  REPROACH  OF  ANNESLEY.    By  Maxwell  Grey. 

98  THREE  YEARS      Bv  Josephine,  Countess  Schwerin. 

99  VERE;  THE  LEADING  LADY.    By  One  of  the  Profession. 

100  THE  GIRL  FROM  MALTA.    By  F.  W.  Hume. 

101  CLEOPATRA.     By  II.  Rider  Haggard. 

102  ARTIST  AND   MODEL.    By  Rene  de  Pont-Jest. 

103  THE  TENTS   OF  SHEM.    By  Grant  Allen. 

104  A  CROOKED  PATH.    By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

105  MAROONED.     By  W.  Clark  Russell. 

106  COULD  AUGHT  ATONE  ?    Anonvmous. 

107  THE  GOLGOTHA   OF  THE  HEART.    By  H.  Wachenhusen. 

108  DR.   WILBUR'S   NOTE-BOOK.    By  Dr.  N.  T.  Oliver. 

109  ROLAND  OLIVER.     By  Justin  McCarthy,  M.  P. 

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111  MRS.  ANNIE  GREEN.     By  Opie  P.  Read. 

112  FOR  LOVE  OF  HER.     By  the  author  of  "Vere." 

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114  LOVER  OR  BLACKMAILER?    By  F.  Du  Boisgobey. 

113  LADY  CLANG  ARTY;  or,  Wedded  and  Wooed.    By  A.  D.  Hall. 
113  THE  SALVATION  ARMY.    By  "Nora  Marks." 
117  TROLLOPE'S  DILEMMA.    By  St.  Aubyn. 


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123  ODETTE'S  MARRIAGE.    By  Albert  Delpit. 

lit 

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129  LOOKING  FURTHER  FORWARD.    By  Richard  Michaelis. 

130  WHOSE  HAND  P    By  W.  G.  Wills  and  Hon.  Mrs.  Greene. 

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Wild  Fowl  Shooting 

BY  & 

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CONTAINING 

Scientific  and  Practical  Descriptions  of 

WILD    FOWL, 

Their  Resorts,  Habits,  and  the  most  successful  methods  of 

Hunting  them.    Treating-  of  DUCKS  of  every  variety, 

GEESE,  SWANS,  SNIPE,  and  QUAIL. 

GUNS— Their  Selection,  how  to  Load,  to  Hold,  etc. 
DECOYS,  and  their  Use. 

BLINDS— How  and  where  to  Construct  them. 
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A  Manual  of  Instruction  for  Young  and  Old  Sportsmen. 

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Qruisings  in  the  Cascades 

AND   OTHER   HUNTING   ADVENTURES. 


A  narrative  of  Travel,  Exploration,  Amateur  Pho 
tography,  limiting  and  Fishing,  with  Special  Chapters  oa 
Hunting  the  Grizzly  Bear,  the  Buffalo,  Elk,  Antelope, 
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the  Rocky  Mountains;  on  a  Montana  Roundup; 
Life  Among  the  Cowboys,  etc. 


BY  G.  O.  SHIELDS   ("COQUINA"), 

AUTHOR   OP 

"ffust/ings  in  the  Rockies."  "Hunting  in  the  Great  West" 

••  The  Battle  of  the  Big  Hole, ' '  Etc. 

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